fuhgeddaboudit!
by theeflowerchild
Summary: Mafia!AU. SasuSaku. "You're a doctor?" he asked. She nodded her head. "Well, Sakura Haruno," he said, and a questionable smirk surfaced on his face. "You owe me one."
1. this is a stick up

**fuhgeddaboudit!  
**theeflowerchild

1\. this is a stick up

* * *

From the second my body makes impact with the wet asphalt, I know getting off work early is too good to be true.

Okay, to be fair, it isn't anybody's fault, really. Shit like this just happens sometimes. It was any other normal day prior to my current predicament. I got up at the crack of dawn, ready for another day of residency at New York-Presbyterian Hospital, and consumed my weight in delicious caffeine. When I made it to the hospital, I did rounds with my mentor, Tsunade, then visited a few recurring patients that I hold dearly to my heart. I had lunch with that nurse I became acquainted with, Ino, and visited the pediatrics center, just like I always did. The only difference between today and every other day of my adult life was that someone, somewhere had cut me a little slack and I was able to skip clinic duty for the day. Instead of making the trek home at an unholy nine PM, I was on my way by six-thirty sharp.

"Alright, bitch, give us your fucking money!" one of the burly men crouching over me yells. I don't even know how far they dragged me into the alleyway next to the old YMCA, but I doubt anybody's in there listening so I don't even bother screaming.

Well, I have to die at some point, I guess. I just kind of didn't expect it to be in my ugly lab coat, after work, in broad-daylight, in New York City—maybe my parents are right; the city isn't as safe as I think it is. Next thing I know, the headline will read: "Pink-Haired-Freak-Doctor Murdered Brutally Outside Her Dream Job!" or something.

I wince, the full impact of the ground to my back finally hitting me after the adrenaline. It's unbearable, and it's going to leave a mark, that's for shit sure. I manage to find my voice to say, "I'm sorry, I don't—"

The other man gives me a swift kick to the side, hitting my spleen square-on. I don't even bother trying to hold back the scream that escapes my lips. "We didn't ask for an apology, bitch, just give us the fucking money if you want to live."

I can't even find my breath for a second. That insane kick leaves me immobile, and all I can see is white. I bite my lip to fight off the pain only to taste metallic. It takes me a moment to gather myself, and even when I do, the voice that escaped my stupid mouth isn't even substantial enough to call weak. "What I was _going_ to say," I start after catching my breath. If I do happen to survive this, I am going to be sporting a giant bruise for a very long time. "Is that I don't _have_ any money. You can check my pockets, I don't have anything except my ID on me."

One of the men laughs, and it causes my stomach to turn. It's a vicious laugh, a laugh that makes my blood curdle and my stomach knot. "Well, I guess it isn't your lucky day, then." The man raises his arm back as far as he can, fist tight, his skin stretches tight over his knuckles.

I brace myself for the impact. It's my time, I guess. I lived a good life—god, I can't believe I didn't put on any makeup this morning. Now, not only am I being murdered, but the picture of my dead body that's going to be posted in The Times is going to show a whitewashed face, and deep purple bags under my eyes. Nice.

I shut my eyes as tightly as I can, balling my hands into fists. My nails are sharp against my skin, drawing even more blood—as if the impact that big guy's foot to my side wasn't enough—my teeth digging deeper into my lips.

I wait, and wait, and wait for the impact…

But nothing comes.

I consider my options. Okay, I can open my eyes and look around and see what the hell is going on, or I can keep them shut, and pretend like nothing is going on.

After a few seconds of consideration, and knowing how much I'd love to do the latter, I open up one of my eyes and look around. The men have taken a step back, farther into the alleyway. I can't help but let my muscle slacken as I open my eyes to get a closer look. The expressions on their faces are nothing less than horrified.

Okay, well, _I_ definitely didn't cause that. While I am _certainly_ terrifying in my own right, I am also a tiny, pink-haired diagnostician who is currently battered into the ground, probably caked in my own blood. I'm not exactly a threat at the moment.

"S-Sasuke Uchiha!" one of them yells. His voice is gruff, and he sounds nervous.

Now where have I heard that name before…?

Carefully, I turn my head in the direction of the exit. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the light, and for my focus to overcome the searing pain.

We're not alone.

A tall, lanky silhouette stands at the head of the alleyway. He has his hand stuffed in his pockets, and stands tall, with impeccable posture. His steps seemed calculated, but languid as he approaches us. Whoever this man is, he seems like he only moves when necessary. He doesn't even bother to speak.

"Uh, Mr. Uchiha, what brings you here?" the other man asks. His voice cracks when the name escapes his lips.

Uchiha, Uchiha… I have definitely heard the name before.

"I could ask you the same thing," he, finally, speaks. His voice is deep, and careful, and undeniably attractive. He does not waver.

"We were doing nothing, Uchiha, I swear—whoa, man, what the fuck are you doing!?" the first man suddenly shrieks, taking a large step backwards. He throws his hands up in the air, his jaw slackening.

It takes me a second to realize what this Sasuke-Uchiha-guy was doing, and my breath immediately catches in my throat.

He pulled out a gun.

"Listen, man, we don't want any trouble," the other tries, raising his own hands.

"Obviously, you did," he counters, taking a step forward. "I think you owe this young woman an apology." Damn straight, mystery savior.

He swallows loudly. "Like I said, we don't want any trouble—"

"Apologize," he repeats. His voice is barely stern, bored even, like he knows he doesn't need any force to get his way.

"I-I'm sorry," one of them says, the other nods next to him, but the apology isn't really to me. It's to the cocky guy at the front.

A loud click resounds throughout the area. I've never seen a gun in person before, but I've definitely heard that clicky-noise on those cop shows that I _totally don't watch_. "Now, get the fuck out of here." Before either of the men can move, though, he shoots.

I can't even help the scream that releases from my throat. It's more of a reflex, than anything, but _holy shit he just shot a gun_.

Both men run as quickly as they can out of the alleyway, their legs pushing them furiously toward the exit. The shot had been nothing more than a warning, a tease, but that didn't make it any less terrifying.

Despite myself, I begin shaking. Ugh, crap, he's going to think I'm some baby.

One minute I'm going to get beaten to death, and the next minute some savior comes with a gun and almost shoots the two guys! As if my day hadn't already been weird enough, now I have to be careful not to get arrested for attempted murder or something—and I'm the one getting mugged!

Said savior stuffs the gun back in his pocket, and begins sauntering towards me at his leisure. I don't even have the energy to flinch at this point—my little scream knocked the wind out of me. With an exasperated sigh, he gave me a once over. "You alright?"

Where the hell does he get off being irritated? I don't even know how to respond. I _want_ to say, 'do I look like I'm fucking alright?' but, instead, I decide on a, "yeah, I guess."

"They hurt you," he says. It's a statement more than question.

"They did," I agree. I take a moment to stare at him, but I can barely make out his features in the dark: high cheekbones, dark, messy hair, and dark eyes. He's dressed in an incredibly nice suit; it doesn't have a speck of dirt on it.

"Let me help you up," he says and offers me a large hand. Despite what my mind is telling me, I slowly deposit my own hand into his, allowing him to pull me up. It's not like I was getting up on my own any time soon anyway.

I immediately wince upon standing, and my hands fly to my side. I wouldn't be surprised if some internal bleeding had occurred; the pain is unreal. The most I've ever hurt myself is tripping down the stairs. They had to have been wearing steel-toed boots, but considering the way I'm feeling, they may as well have been wearing chunks of led on their feet.

"Uh." I stare at him again for a moment, gathering myself once again. It has certainly been a long day, and no doubt I was going right back to the hospital after this. "Thank you," I say.

"It's no problem," he responds, and as bored as he sounds, it probably really wasn't anything to him. I see his eyes wander across me; I must look like a freaking mess, and seeing as it isn't every day that you come across someone with bright pink hair and eyes greener than grass, looking like a mess isn't a good thing. Unconsciously, I begin playing with my hair, and pressing down some fly-aways.

Even in the dark I can make out the fact that this man is devilishly handsome, incredibly striking, a force to be reckoned with—if the gun didn't give off the hint. I _definitely_ should've put on some makeup this morning. "You're a doctor?" he asks me.

For a second I think he must be an incredibly good guesser, but then I remember I'm wearing my stupid lab coat that reads _New York-Presbyterian _over the pocket, and a big name tag that reads "_Sakura Haruno M.D. Diagnostics_." "I am."

"Well, Sakura Haruno," he says, and a questionable smirk surfaces on his face. "You owe me one."

With that, he steps back into the darkness of the alley, making his way towards the exit out into the bustling street. It's still only a quarter after six, but I'm sure nobody even heard the commotion down the alleyway, despite the screams and even the gunshot—and even if they had, New York City doesn't stop for a mugging.

I brush off my coat that definitely needs a little bit more than a dusting, and sigh loudly. Back to the hospital I'll have to go to get the stupid injury checked out. At least I'm alive?

I place my savior's name and words in the back of my mind for another day.

* * *

**Really wanted to write a mafia story. It's a snow day, so I started it! I'm also going to try to finish up Sniffing Paints by Wednesday.**

**Please review! Your reviews are really nice and wonderful and really make a writer's day! Thanks!**

**Peace.**


	2. you're on the wrong side of town

**fuhgeddaboudit!  
**theeflowerchild

2\. you're on the wrong side of town

* * *

I hate this side of town. The streets are always swarming with people, and I hate the sound of sirens. Being near the hospital, and the precinct means you're sure as hell going to hear _sirens_.

Everyone walks too fucking slowly, too. There are a hundred mothers with baby carriages, and men in cheap suits on their stupid cellphones screaming louder than they probably have to, spewing a bunch of bullshit. There are a million vendors selling food that's probably been soaking in squalor, and for every one of those vendors there are at least _two_ news stands trying to sell me some trivial tabloid that makes its money on lies and deceit. I hate liars. It's too loud, and too crowded, and too tedious.

Naruto will only meet me around here, though, by the precinct. You'd think he'd want to get as far away from there as possible, you know, when meeting with some _high-ranking gang member_ (allegedly), but I guess the guy knows what he's doing. He's been our confidant for so long that I won't even bother questioning him, as fucking weird as he is; he always gets the information we need, and we're always staying out of trouble, so the relationship works, as far as I'm concerned. He's an idiot, anyway.

With a sigh, I run my hand through my hair. It's getting far too long. I'd get a haircut, but I don't even know when I'd have the time.

The hospital doesn't look as busy as usual today, surprisingly. I guess not as many people are dying today in New York City, not that I'm complaining; that's just less traffic for me to sift through.

I hate taking the subway, but Naruto doesn't really like me taking my car; it makes too much of a commotion or something. The traffic sucks, too, which makes the trains way more convenient, but I hate being cramped up with that many people. Sometimes you can't even get on the first car that comes. On top of that, taking the subway means I have to make the banal trek past that damn hospital.

Which is how I'm in my current predicament.

I don't know how nobody else notices those two lowlifes dragging that tiny girl into the alleyway, but, of course, I do. And, of course, I'll be the one stuck having to do something about it. Did I mention how much I hate coming to this part of town?

With a long sigh, I begin walking toward the dark alleyway. Poor girl must be terrified; she barely looks over the age of thirteen. Of course those two pieces of trash decided to take advantage of her. I've seen them before, maybe on the news, or maybe in a file that Naruto had given me; their names escape me, as if they matter. They're stupid, petty thieves who have escaped the law more times than anything fair, and I'm pretty sure they've even been involved with a few deaths.

Like I said, trash.

They're probably in it for a few dollars, or even, more disgustingly, to take advantage of her. Before I even know it, I'm almost running toward the alleyway. Like hell I'll let that happen.

By the time I make it to the entrance, it only takes them a few seconds to realize my intrusion. The girl is lying on the floor, arm over her body, ready to brace herself for impact. I can already tell they've raised a hand to her; how disgusting, preying on a defenseless, young girl. Only the lowest of the low would ever do such a thing.

I can't even help the look of disgust that surfaces on my face, but it easily turns to a smirk when they freeze in my presence. The look of sheer horror on their faces is nearly comical. Of _course_ they recognize me.

"S-Sasuke Uchiha!" the bigger one yells, obviously nervous. He takes a step away from the girl. I can't really make much out from the darkness, but his voice is enough to tell me that he knows he's in deep shit. Good.

The other does the same, possibly even more terrified than his partner. "Uh, Mr. Uchiha," he says. As if addressing me that way will get him anywhere. "What brings you here?"

I scoff. "I could ask you the same thing." I take a step forward, easily causing them to take a step back. Spineless vermin, I should teach them a fucking lesson. I reach for the gun that's nestled in a holster at my side; I know it isn't loaded, but I know it will scare the living shit out of them. It might scare the girl, but it'll be worth it. Their actions have consequences, and if the law can't do anything about it, I will.

"We were doing nothing, Uchiha, I swear—" he lies. I hate liars. I quickly remove my gun from it's holster and point; I'm known for my impeccable aim so, rightfully, he shrieks, "Whoa, man, what the fuck are you doing!?"

I see the girl begin to shake on the floor, but I'm in too deep now. They need to learn their lesson.

"Listen, man, we don't want any trouble," the other argues, trying to gain some leverage. Another lie.

"Obviously, you did," I counter. "I think you owe this young woman an apology."

He swallows so loudly I can hear it. "Like I said, we don't want any trouble—"

"Apologize," I hiss. Go ahead, and test me. I fucking dare you.

"I—I'm sorry," he stutters, but he's apologizing to me, not her.

I've had enough of this. Without a second thought, I point my gun to the sky, and shoot. I thank my lucky stars that we're at such a busy place at such a busy time of day, or I probably would have gotten caught—but, then again, I would never do something like this at such a time.

The tiny girl shrieks, covering herself up even further. Sorry, girl, but it had to be done.

"Now," I say, fixing them with the mightiest glare I can muster. They shrivel immediately. "Get the fuck out of here."

They run past me at lightening speed toward the entrance; I don't even spare them a glance. They're lucky I let them out alive, but I'm not really interested in collecting blood on my hands.

With another sigh I can't help but let out, I mosey on over to the tiny girl. She looks terrified, shaken to the core, but I don't blame her; situations like this aren't easy, and it's probably her first time ever hearing a gunshot.

When I'm finally in front of her, and the shadows aren't covering her, I realize something:

She isn't a girl at all.

She's a young woman, maybe a little younger than me. She's wearing a big lab coat; she's a doctor, of course, probably just getting off work only to be greeted by two thugs desperate for some adrenaline. She's short, and skinny, which doesn't make it ridiculous for me to mistake her as a kid, but she is, now, very obviously a woman.

"You alright?" I ask, even though I know she isn't.

She finally looks up at me, and she's frowning. I'm greeted with a pixie cut of pink hair and sparkling green eyes. She's cute, really, and probably attractive when she's not covered in her own blood, and sweat. "Yeah, I guess," she whispers.

"They hurt you," I counter. She's sporting a swollen cheek, and she's holding her side. He probably kicked her.

Maybe I should have shot them.

"They did," she agrees.

I can't help but cluck my tongue at her. I offer her a hand, which she hesitantly takes. After helping her up, I realize just how short she _really_ is; she barely reaches my damn shoulders. She visibly winces, grabbing her side once she's upright, but finds her voice anyway. "Uh, thank you," she says, and smiles a tiny smile.

I shrug. "It's no problem." I had nothing better to do, anyway.

She has a big name-tag on that reads _'Sakura Haruno M.D. Diagnostics.'_ I smirk. "You're a doctor?"

She looks shocked for a moment, but then realization floods her features. "I am."

"Well, Sakura Haruno," I say, and my smirk widens. "You owe me one." She would _definitely_ come in handy.

And it would be _totally_ unlike me not to take _some_ sort of advantage of this situation.

She looks taken aback, and I use that as my cue to leave. I wait outside the alleyway for a little longer for her to come out, but she doesn't seem to notice me. In the light, she's even prettier.

I watch her walk toward the sliding glass doors of the hospital; she's lucky she was so damn close; otherwise the walk would've been a lot harder. Maybe I should've taken her, but it's too late for that, now. I saved her, anyway, didn't I?

I begin walking towards the subway once she's safe inside the hospital.

I will certainly be seeing her again.

* * *

After unlocking the last of ten locks, I'm finally able to enter the apartment. It's more of a hideout, really, and the one I know my brother is currently residing in.

I throw my keys, the file, and gun on the table as I make my way into the spacious living area. It's one of our nicer apartments, and one of many; everything is leather, and brown, with shining wood floors, and delicate moldings. The curtains are left closed, the only source of light the sickening luminescent bulbs in the porcelain lamps. It's my brother's favorite place to be; it was our father's first place.

"Itachi!" I call out, stepping into living room. There are four large couches set in a square, and the coffee table is drowning in newspaper articles, and files that I'm sure have been read one-hundred times. "Anyone here?" I yell again.

"In here, brother," I hear him say from the bedroom. It would be just like him to still be in bed, wasting the day away.

I make my way down the long hallway to the master suite. I don't even bother knocking as I throw the door open; there he is, in all his glory, shirtless, and still half asleep.

I frown when I notice the needle poking out of the bedside table drawer. "Why are you still in bed?"

He ignores my question. "Did you meet with Naruto today, like I asked you?"

My frown deepens, and I know he senses my uneasiness, but he chooses to ignore it. Or maybe he just doesn't care; I really don't know with him anymore. "I did."

"Did you get the file?" he asks. He throws his feet over the side of the bed, but grabs his head quickly.

"You alright?" I question, but I know he's fine. I give his disorientation a once over before gritting my teeth. He's high, of course, like he always is, and this is around the time he gets up every day, lazily, and makes some food. Then, he drowns himself in files until he shoots up again, and then goes back to bed.

He, again, ignores me. "Where did you put it?"

I raise an eyebrow at him. "The table. What did you need it for?"

"Information," he says.

I scoff. "I already knew _that."_

"So, why did you ask?" He stands up slowly, carefully, and looks around the room. He looks confused for a moment, but it quickly settles to realization. "What time is it?

"Seven," I say. "Or seven-thirty, maybe, I don't know."

"Later than usual," he mutters, and then pulls his hair back into a low ponytail. He's been wearing his hair that way since I can remember, but it's thin now, and he looks like he's graying.

Itachi looks much older, older than ever, now that I really think about it. His crow's feet are even deeper set, and his lips are thin, and dry. The dark circles under his eyes are one shade away from black, and his roots are almost completely gray. He's lost a lot of weight, recently, too, and it's almost sad.

Itachi was the boss, the main man, the star of the show, and this is what he has become.

"I got caught up in something," I explain.

"Hope it wasn't anything stupid," he says, and frowns at me.

I only frown in return. "Maybe you should take a shower before you start working," I insist. His hair is shiny, and he smells like cigarettes. "It wouldn't kill you to smell a little better."

"I'll take one tonight," he lies.

"Yeah, whatever," I say, and begin making my way toward the door.

"You're not sleeping here tonight?" He raises a thin eyebrow in questioning. His eyes are bloodshot, and I know when I leave, he'll probably shoot up again, but I can't be around him for much longer.

"I never do," I say.

He sighs. "Right, just…" he trails off, and then smiles a tiny smile. "Stay out of trouble, okay?"

I think of reminding him about how _he's_ the one who sent me to see Naruto, and how _he's_ the one insistent on me doing all his physical work, but instead, I sigh in return. "Yeah, I'll try."

* * *

**Hey hey hey! Hope you enjoyed! Please, PLEASE review, they make me happy, and make me update much quicker! Tell me what you think about the switching of POV's!**

**Peace.**


	3. you come to me at lunch time on a monday

**fuhgeddaboudit!  
**theeflowerchild

3\. you come to me at lunch time on a monday?

* * *

I look over the towering mountain of files on my desk with a drawn sigh. I can't believe Tsunade sometimes, using her damn power as chief of medicine to get me to do all the grunt work.

Or, well, now that I think about it, I guess I _can_ believe it.

I should tuck in, really, or it's just going to build up until the pile is taller than _me_—which, I guess, isn't really that much of a feat—and then I'll be even more behind than I already am. Actually, you know what? I don't even want to think about how behind I am.

I shift in my seat with an uncomfortable wince. Sometimes it slips my mind how tender the ache in my side still is, how apparent the scar will be for the rest of my life. A ruptured spleen, and a bruised pelvis bone are absolutely nothing to laugh about, but I chuckle anyway. Ino claims the bruise looks like Texas, I claim she's an idiot.

I really am lucky I escaped with my life, so I don't feel like I'm a position to complain about a few stupid cuts, and bruises that, apparently, look like one of our larger states. I survived, right? And some people aren't as lucky enough as me to say that, so I've been trying to refrain from making any comments on my state. Still, it freaking _hurts_.

At least wounds like these fade into scars that always end up being cool party stories. "Hey, Sakura, how on _earth_ did you get that huge, monster of a scar!?" Oh, you know, I was hiking Mt. Everest by myself, and in the midst of my Olympic feat, I was confronted by a huge bear—no, wait, a _Yeti!_ He saw me, and there was nothing to do, but defend myself with my own, bare hands! Thus, I fought him with my black-belt Karate skills that I _so totally_ have, and got out with this scar! That Yeti didn't even see it coming, and didn't live to see another day…

Well, no matter the lie, I'm still terribly sore. Tsunade insisted that I take an extra week or so off, seeing as it's only been about fifteen days since the odd, but equally horrible happenstance of being mugged in an alleyway behind the hospital. Alas, I have so many patients, and so much paperwork that _she assigned to me_ that I can't simply take three weeks off for something as trivial as a big bruise, and a surgery. And even if I could, I couldn't in my right mind feel comfortable doing so. I'm much better off here, and hell, if she was so damn concerned, she wouldn't give me this much Goddamn busy work!

A familiar, harsh rapping on the door interrupts my train of thought. "Come in!" I yell, and my voice sounds far more annoyed than I intended.

Ino opens up the door with a raised eyebrow, and pursed lips. "What crawled up your butt, and died?"

I shoot her a dull look. "Watch your mouth, or I'll be assigning you all this paperwork." I point my finger at the incredible pile for emphasis.

She scoffs. "I _dare_ you."

"Don't test me," I say, and grab a small stack off the top. I thrust them toward her; she is my assistant, and head nurse of my department, after all. She sure as hell isn't going to get off scot-free if I'm not.

She snatches them out of my hands, but doesn't really make a motion of annoyance. "I can't believe she gives you all this crap."

"I can," I mutter, and shake my head. "Imagine what Shizune has to do."

She shivers in disgust. "Now, if there is _ever_ a job I don't want…"

"You can say that again," I agree, and then smirk. "You don't have to worry, Ino, I would _ never_ trust you with such an enormous amount of work—"

"You'd be lost without me," she quips, flipping her sleek, blonde ponytail over her sharp shoulder. "I'll finish up these. I'm grabbing lunch, what do you want?"

I roll my eyes. "I can walk with you—"

She cuts me off with a wave of her hand. "If you're going to work in your state, I'm not going to be letting you move around and rip your stitches," she says. "I'm a nurse first, always remember that."

I raise an eyebrow, and frown. "God help your patients."

"Cute," she retorts. "Now, what do you want?"

I think for a moment, and then decide, "Pasta, please!"

She shoots me a look. "Not only can you not exercise for the next few weeks, but you're going to eat carbs to make up for it?"

"Bite me," I deadpan.

"Maybe you could use a chunk of your fat missing," she rejoinders.

"You're the pig, remember?"

"I'm not the one stuffing my face with carbs—"

"Could've fooled me with the way your body looks—"

"Tell me, is that big forehead of yours there to house that big ego? Because it's certainly not there housing comebacks—"

I lift up another stack of files. "I believe these are _yours."_

* * *

Despite our seemingly odd relationship, my friendship with Ino has slowly grown into something I hold near and dear to me heart. She's a little older than me, but, almost impossibly, a little less mature. She has been working at this hospital for three more years than me, and Tsunade chose her as my assistant when she gave me my department. We didn't really get along at first, two powerful personalities colliding, but I ended up becoming very fond of her very quickly.

Ino is vivacious, and mighty, with a quick temper, and a demanding presence. When Ino walks in the room, you will sure as hell know she's there, and that was _incredibly_ intimidating to me at first. She claims everyone's attention, and that made it impossibly hard for people to take me seriously when everyone was paying attention to the bombshell of a head nurse instead of the miniature head doctor, but our relationship is productive. It _works_. Once I got over her potent charisma, we were able to work off of each other in such a way that my confidence was boosted, and her modesty grew to a seeable quotient.

Not without a few arguments here and there, though, of course.

Along with her endearing personality, Ino is absolutely gorgeous, and seemingly flawless, and it's enough to make a girl a feel a little browbeaten. Her visage is daunting, with a heart-shaped face framed by sleek, platinum blonde hair. She's all big, blue eyes, and endless legs fixating her stature at nearly six-feet-tall. As a tiny, pink haired nothing, she is enough to make someone feel insecure.

Ino is humble, though, despite what I've said, and Ino has helped me realize my own beauty, and I'll forever be indebted to her for such a wonderful gift as confidence.

"How are you feeling?" she asks me before chowing down on her big, colorful salad.

Sore, tired, confused, a little scared, maybe, but I don't say that. "I'm fine." I look down at my pasta almost guiltily, and take a small bite.

She immediately notices, and smirks. Ino has picked up on all my quirks very easily, and let me tell you, there are _many_. Ino is sure to tell me how _weird_ I am one hundred times a day—really makes a girl feel special. "Maybe if you ate a little better, your body would grow to fit that big forehead—"

"Do you really want to go down this road again?" I ask, eyebrows lifted, hand motioning toward the still-gaping pile of papers sitting neatly on my desk.

Her eyes widen a fraction. "Uh, sorry," she mutters, and stuffs her face with a large piece of lettuce. She chews, and swallows, and then offers, "You really got lucky."

She's right. I could have very easily been in the obituaries, and it was much more likely than ending up in the ER. I could have been saying goodbye to the real world if not for my masked savior—okay, well, he wasn't exactly _masked_. In fact, I know _exactly_ who he is, the man who saved my life. "Yeah," I agree.

"I mean, to think, they just decided to stop attacking you!" she says, really getting into it. Ino gets a kick out of these types of dramatic stories, and I'm sure it helps that I, well, _lived_. "I almost can't believe it! That just doesn't happen!"

"You're right," I agree, because it doesn't, and it didn't. The injuries I sustained are enough to show of that, so Im not sure why everybody believed my fake story. If my knight in shining Armani hadn't shown up, I would've been a goner, just another death caused by the endless amount of muggings in NYC.

"You're lucky you were by the hospital, too," she says, but then she corrects herself, "You were lucky _period."_

What are the odds that on the day I'm getting mugged by two large, powerful buffoons in some random alleyway that Sasuke Uchiha, the alleged, connected, and revered leader of Akatsuki, just happens to be walking down that same street, armed, and happens to _see_ this happening, and decides to take time out of his busy, gang-violence-filled day to protect some random, pink haired doctor he doesn't know? Slim to none, that's what. It sure as hell was my lucky day, but I don't respond.

She automatically catches my drift, and offers me a tiny smile. "We don't have to talk about it."

I return the smile. "Thank you."

She rolls her eyes, and says anyway, "Do you get _any_ joy out of your life?"

I shrug. "I'm a simple girl, I don't need mugging mysteries to make my day." I wonder what she'd think if I told her what _really_ happened, that I was saved by some allusive mafia master. She'd have a freaking field day, and concoct some Action-Romance novel in her head, probably. I decide to quickly change the subject, and slyly ask, "How are things gong with Sai?"

She immediately blushes furiously, and begins twirling a long lock of hair on her long, thin finger. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh?" I question, batting my eyes innocently. She knows _exactly_ what I'm talking about. "You haven't met him? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome? He's the cute, brown-eyed doctor in the ER—"

"I've met him," she clarifies, even pinker than before. Only Ino can make a blush look that attractive. "Believe me when I tell you that nothing's going on."

I frown. "Still?"

"Still," she confirms. "I'm not sure he even _realizes_ I'm interested."

It takes all I have in me not to let my jaw drop onto the desk. "Uh, Ino," I start with a very raised eyebrow. "The entire _hospital_ knows you're interested."

"That's what _I _thought!" she argues with a huff, throwing her arms in in frustration. "It's not like I'm _trying_ to keep it a secret! He's just an idiot!"

"Most men are," I try. I mean, it's true. I really wouldn't be _totally_ surprised if he was simply just _that ignorant_ to her feelings. As totally gorgeous as Sai is, he's still a little… _off._

"Kiba isn't!" she counters.

I laugh. "Ah, but Kiba is a well trained animal that I've had many years to craft into a person I can tolerate."

She laughs along with me. "Oh, come on, Kiba _is_ a good guy."

I can't help the dreamy smile that surfaces at the thought of my handsome boyfriend. "Yeah, he is," I agree. "He's very kind."

"And hot!" she yells, and I burst into laughter. "Why can't I have that!?"

"You can!" I counter. "Maybe you just have to be more… assertive?" As if Ino could be _more_ assertive.

"Do I have to go up to him and stick my tongue down his damn throat?" she asks, frowning.

"Maybe." I wink.

"How'd you get Kiba?" she questions, eyes wide, and sparkling. "How do you get such a cute, dedicated boyfriend, and I can't get anything other than _sex?"_

I shrug. "Kiba asked _me_ out."

"Boys ask me out," she argues.

"I didn't say they didn't," I tell her, and watch her carefully to see if she's upset, but the comment wasn't more than that, a comment. "Sai will come around."

"And if he doesn't?" she asks, like a lost puppy, blue eyes wide, and hopeful.

I give her a tiny smile. "You really like him."

"_I do!"_ she whines. "He's just so… interesting! And talented! Have you _seen_ him draw?"

"I haven't, _have you?"_ She nods her head dreamily, and then immediately goes back to frowning. Her upset is almost _comical_. "Just relax. There's no use getting all worked up about it, it'll only make it worse."

"I like him so much I could _die,"_ she wails, falling back into her chair. It's hard to think that Ino, a gorgeous, phenomenon of a woman has trouble getting men. She reminds me of _me_, or, rather, my young self, before commitment, crying over beautiful, unattainable boys who would have never given the tiny, pink-haired, big-foreheaded girl the time of day.

Until Kiba, of course: my gorgeous, out-of-my-league boyfriend. Though I may have grown into my enormous forehead, I still don't know what the hell that boy sees in me. "I think you'll make it," I say, holding back a giggle.

She shoves a cucumber in her mouth and mutters, "Eat your damn pasta."

I take another tiny bite, and this time, I do laugh. "Maybe just ask him out?"

"Yeah, sure, I'll ask him on a date when _you_ ask Kiba to marry you," she counters with a sickening smirk on her face.

Ugh, why does everything always go back to _me?_ A shocked heat fills my cheeks, and I frown. "Who says I want to marry Kiba?"

"Oh, come on, Sakura," she says, casually waving me off like _I'm_ the ridiculous one. "You've been with him for like, eight freaking years, and live with him for almost half of them. Of _course_ you want to marry him."

"What do you mean _of course?_ I gripe. "I _still_ have a huge career ahead of me. I have all the time in the world to get married."

She scoffs. "I'm not saying get pregnant and become a freaking housewife." She rolls her eyes. "What, is he afraid of commitment?"

I glare. _"Obviously_ he's not afraid of commitment."

She thinks for a moment, leaning back in her chair. I hope she falls over. She places a long, well-manicured nail against her chin, and begins tapping in thought, before she gasps loudly. "Oh my God, are _you_ the commitment-phoebe!?"

I almost choke on my pasta. "What? No!" I defend, waving my hands at her. "You're thinking _way_ too much into this."

"Am I?" she asks. "Or are you scared to get married? How come _you_ have men fawning over you that you don't even want, and _I_ can't even get a date!?"

"_Men?_ Ino, it's _Kiba_ we're talking about—"

"All I want is for Sai to notice me, and you just have a boyfriend flinging diamond rings at you—!"

"Ino, you have _no_ idea what you're even talking about—"

"Excuse me, Dr. Haruno?" I'm interrupted by a tiny voice, and a soft knock. I turn to see a young nurse waiting at the door blushing a pretty pink.

"What?" I demand, still glaring heatedly at a laughing Ino.

"_Somebody's_ defense," she sings.

"Ino, why don't you shut the f—"

The nurse coughs, sufficiently interrupting what could have been a horribly embarrassing tirade. I sheepishly turn my attention toward her. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a man outside insistent on seeing you."

I raise an eyebrow. "Insistent?"

"Yes," she confirms. "He came in asking for you, says you'll know him."

I don't think I was expecting anybody… Was anybody coming to visit me? My brother certainly isn't in town, and Kiba has work until ten. Who would be dropping by on a surprise visit? "Did he give a name?"

"Well, no…" she whispers, embarrassed. "He insisted that you knew him, and that his name was none of my business."

I roll my eyes. "This is why I always need you at the front desk," I say, turning towards Ino. "Nobody insists _anything_ to you."

"Damn straight." She laughs, and then adds, "Unless they're trying to get something chopped off in the process."

"I—I'm sorry!" the nurses stammers. She pushes a long lock of curly, brown hair behind her ears in chagrin at her blunder.

I roll my eyes. "Don't worry about it, it happens. As long as this guy isn't making a ruckus in the waiting room." She shakes her head in the negative. "Did he say anything else?"

"Well…" She thinks for a moment, and then nods her head. "He said you 'owed him?'"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ino says, but it seems so far away.

I… owed this person? My eyes widen, and I feel like my throat is as dry as the desert. I've only had one person say that to me before. "Oh god…" I whisper.

It _can't_ be.

"Uh, is everything alright, Sakura?" Ino asks, suddenly aware of my distress. She waves a hand in front of my face to grab my attention.

I push her away, and catch my breath before I even realize I lost it. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Just send the guy in."

It absolutely _can't_ be… There's no way! There is absolutely _no way_ Sasuke Uchiha would just waltz into my hospital, in the middle of the day, on a freaking Monday looking for _me_. No, I refuse to believe it. How would he even find me? How would he know exactly where my office is? Who would _tell him_ if he gave no explanation? No, nope, nuh-uh, it _can't_ be, he couldn't just—wouldn't just come to my office, would he?

My horrifying thoughts are confirmed when a tall, ridiculously handsome, sickeningly familiar man enters my office, smirking like he's entering a freaking castle. He's gripping his shoulder, knuckles white. I notice a stain that's eerily close to blood on the bicep of his very-expensive suit. He inclines his head toward me in greeting and says, "Long time no see, Sakura."

I'm sure I'm as pale as a ghost. I gape at him like a fish. There he is, standing in my doorway, in all his freaking glory, and—if I were any lesser of a doctor, I wouldn't have noticed—in a ridiculous amount of pain. His smirk widens, probably at my expression. My heart crashes violently against my chest. I think I'm going to _faint._

"Sasuke…"

* * *

**WEEEE I finally outlined this story, and it's going to be around 50 chapters, plus an epilogue, lol. I'm excited to get it going, though, and it should get a move on around here.**

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	4. ey, lemme get another coffe ove' 'ere!

**fuhgeddaboudit!  
**theeflowerchild

4\. 'ey, lemme get another coffe ove' 'ere!

* * *

There is nothing particularly special about this diner. Six-blocks down from the precinct sits a blaring eyesore of an eatery, fixed between an old dry-cleaners and a bustling corner. If you eat here, you probably always have, because there's absolutely no reason to stop in your tracks at this establishment with a desperate need to scour their equally hideous menu. It stands stout with blue-stained bricks and peeling, plastic silver archways. Flickering lights above the doorway spell out, "Ichiraku's," with neon wires woven into plates and forks following. It's sickeningly, almost suspiciously, anonymous, and it's Naruto's favorite place to meet.

With a sigh, I enter the blight and am immediately greeted by young girls with their hair tied in high ponytails, and frilly aprons tied around their tiny waists. They all look the same, completely identical. One flashes me a bright, white smile. "Welcome to Ichiraku's! My name is Moegi, would you like a booth or a—?"

"I'm meeting someone," I interrupt, and pass her crestfallen face without another word. I already know where Naruto will be sitting.

I make my way to the back corner, passing indistinguishable red pleather booths fixed against windows open to the vision of passersby. Who the hell wants to be watched while they're eating? Families laugh jovially, while the windows allow prying eyes a little show of what should be a nice lunch.

Naruto is an idiot, and I'll never say otherwise, but at least he has enough common sense to choose the table farthest away from prying eyes. Being seen together can't be good for either one of us. He sits in a vacant area in the far left of the diner, void of cascading windows, and families with toddlers ready to scream at any moment.

"Hey, bastard, over here!" he yells when he spots me. As if I can't see his blinding blond hair from outer space.

I roll my eyes and slide into the seat across from him. "Shut up, moron. Do you really want everybody looking our way?"

He immediately shoots me a sheepish grin, blue eyes cast downward in embarrassment. "Sorry, asshole…"

If I'm around him for too long, I fear my eyes may roll completely around in their sockets. "First you call me here on short notice, and then you go ahead and act like an idiot?"

He frowns. "At least I'm not a big jerk."

"Better mean than dumb," I say, smirking. I see him flush even further, forehead creasing in annoyance—he sets himself up, really, and that's not _my_ problem.

A very young waitress interrupts us in a prim uniform. "Welcome to Ichiraku's!" she says, and her voice is squeaky like nails on a chalkboard. She immediately turns to me, and a sickeningly sweet smile flutters onto her youthful features. She leans forward, gesturing her chest toward me, and I hear Naruto snicker from across he table. This happens almost every time. "What can I get you guys?" she asks, but she's really only speaking to me.

"I already have," Naruto says, and gestures with his mug of coffee, as if she's looking.

"Coffee's fine," I say. "Black."

She doesn't even bother jotting it down, and bats her eyelashes at me. "Coming right up," she says, voice a sad attempt at sultry, and I almost laugh. She really can't be any older than sixteen.

Naruto sighs when she leaves, and cups his chin in his hands. I realize he's not eating—or, well, whatever you can call his ill-mannered way of consuming food. "What, no ramen?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. Normally, he's scarfing down a big bowl of the disgusting, salty treat he calls a meal, but there's nothing more than a cup of coffee settled in front of him. "You feeling alright?"

He frowns. "I'm not here to eat."

I scoff. "As if you do anything else."

"I called you here for a reason," he says, cutting the banter short. I'm almost surprised, but I settle for a cocked eyebrow. His eyes cloud with worry, eyebrows furrowing in concern. "I wouldn't have called you on such short notice if it wasn't important." I rarely see him like this: thoughtful, and anxious. He wraps his hands around his mug of coffee, but doesn't drink as he taps his index finger against the ceramic. "We just got the news today," he tells me.

I raise an eyebrow. "What news?"

"Everyone was talking about it all around the office," he explains to me. He leans in closer, and the look of grave concern becomes far clearer on his face. It's unsettling; normally, Naruto's biggest concern is that Ichiraku will be out of his favorite ramen. Most of the information he gives us is through Itachi's inquiries, and for Naruto to figure something so important that he should call me to come meet him, it really _must_ be paramount—or, at least, what Naruto could consider as such.

"What news?" I repeat.

He leans back in his seat and takes a long sip of his coffee. Leave it to Naruto to try to be suspenseful at a time like this. "Jiraiya announced it this morning."

"_What news?"_ I sneer, glowering.

He rolls his eyes. "Have some patience, bastard."

The waitress dips in seamlessly, slowly lowering the mug of coffee down in front of me along with her chest. I look away, uninterested, as always. What makes these girls think a flash of cleavage is going to get my attention? "Here's your coffee, sir."

"Thanks," I say shortly, and do not spare her a glance. Naruto laughs at my misfortune. Idiot.

"Will that be all?" she questions, and I finally look up to see her attempt at a sexy smile.

"Yes." I cluck my tongue. "Now, if you'll excuse us."

She looks taken aback for a moment, but her features settle back into flirty. "Just let me know if you need anything."

Naruto begins laughing as she backs away. "She's cute."

"I don't care." I had barely even noticed over her aggravating beguilement. "Now, tell me what you heard."

He rolls his eyes. "Do you have any restraint?"

"You've worn it far too thin already, idiot," I warn.

He waves me off with a hand, only for his features to take a dark turn very quickly. You can almost get whiplash at how easily Naruto's emotions change, and it doesn't help that he wears them on his sleeves like stripes. "Years ago," he begins, almost _theatrically_. "Far before our time—well, not _far_ before our time, but—"

"I get it."

He shoots me a lame smile before continuing. "When your Dad was still around, and in charge, you know there was a lot of tension back then." He pauses for a moment, so I nod. "At the cost of a few lives," he looks at me very carefully, "and some jail time, things settled down."

"I'm aware." He gives me a soft, concerned look that makes me want to bash his lights out, but I choose to ignore it.

His gaze lingers for a moment before he sighs. "Anyway, remember that group? Oto?"

I shrug. "It rings a bell."

"Well, the leader was put away around that time," he explains, and then recesses for a moment in thought. "It wasn't for anything too bad, but with the amount of accounts against him, he went to jail for almost twenty years."

"And that's my concern, why?" I ask, eyebrow rose.

He ignores my question. "His name is Orochimaru. A scary guy—a powerful guy, and he's done a lot of bad things, man."

It's almost ironic that he should make such a comment whilst meeting a high-ranking gang member to feed illegal information to, but I don't comment on it. "Like?"

"Murder," he whispers. "But he was never indicted, obviously."

"So what'd he go to jail for?" I ask.

"I'm not totally positive, but there was some tax evasion, petty theft." He runs a hand through his spiky blond hair, ruffling the impossible mess of tangles. "A couple of accounts of battery. It's all in his file. Nothing good, but nothing bad enough to put him away for life."

I nod my head. "I see."

"Slimy bastard did some bad things back in the day, but he acted like a perfect little angel on the stand and in his cell. They put him away upstate," he explains. "Somewhere near Albany in a low security prison. Dude got to go outside, eat meals around people, and even go on the computer for short periods of time."

"That's a shame." I know why Naruto got into this job, to protect people, and I know how it makes him feel when justice is sought out and never served.

I see his hands tighten around the mug, knuckles white, eyes flashing with anger. "He was released on good behavior this morning."

I lean my cheek into my palm, lazily raising an eyebrow. "Listen, it's a travesty, and it's unfair, but why are you telling me this—?"

He cuts me off, "He was the head of Oto—supposedly, at least."

I don't remember much about Oto. Itachi brings them up in passing every once in a while, but never elaborates, like most things he talks about. I'm aware that, allegedly, it was a member who killed my father, but I was far too young then to even remember. Many years ago, they were the rivals of Akatsuki, but I don't know much about the conflict, seeing as they haven't been active in almost twenty years. "Oto has been dead since before we could talk."

"This isn't a joke, Sasuke," he warns somberly. "You have to tell your brother that Orochimaru is free."

I roll my eyes. "Of course I'll tell him, but to be honest, Naruto, I don't really think it's that important—"

"Better safe than sorry," he says, and eases back into a more comfortable stance. "This guy isn't a joke. We have _filing cabinets_ filled to the brim with evidence that's supposedly connected to him that we can't even _use_."

"How old would he be now?" I ask. "Almost sixty? Who's to say he's going to even have the energy to jump _right back into action?"_ I mock, smirking. "He's been away for almost twenty-years; he knows what jail is like, why would he be dumb enough to do something to put him back away?"

"That's just it, Sasuke, Orochimaru isn't _dumb_." He reaches into the messenger bag on his side and lifts out a thick file probably stuffed with photocopies of papers he shouldn't be giving me. He throws it on the table and flips it open to a bio sheet. "Orochimaru is a mastermind—and an evil one, at that."

I cast my eyes at the sheet in front of me. At the top, it reads: Orochimaru Yakushi, along with his birthdate, and stats. His photo depicts a man of maybe forty, with long, sleek black hair, and yellowing green eyes. He's, quite disrespectfully, smiling in his mug shot. "Well, he's not a looker, I can tell you that."

Naruto chuckles dryly, and slams his finger down on Orochimaru's mug shot. "He's a bad guy, Sasuke. He's the leader of the gang that murdered your father."

I automatically frown. "That was many years ago."

"And now he's free," he repeats, like it'll matter more the second time around. "And who knows what he's going to do next?"

I stare at him for a moment, and then sigh loudly. I push his hand off the bio, and slam the folder shut before depositing it into my own bag. "I'll show it to Itachi."

He grins. "Now that's what I want to hear."

I smirk. "But, I need you to do something for me in return."

His face falls. "What, getting you information isn't enough?" he asks, but he's not bitter. Naruto does what he does for me without concern, and with reason; if Naruto ever wants out of this life, I'll let him out without question.

I shrug. "What can I say? I'm a selfish guy."

"You can say that again." He laughs, and it's rough. "What do you want, bastard?"

I stand up and sling my bag over my shoulder. "Grab the bill, would you?" I ask, but don't even wait for his response.

I hear him mutter a, "Yeah, yeah, cheap bastard," as I walk away from the table. As if I want to deal with that damn waitress again. It's enough that I had to tolerate that blundering idiot on what I thought was a day off, but swooning teenage girls are not something I enjoy.

Or any women, for that matter.

I walk out of the diner into the bustling streets of the city. At noontime, the streets are always filled to the brim with hustling businessmen hoping to get a quick lunch, or Nanny's with their obnoxious children screaming for fast food. I don't know how they do it; if I acted as disrespectfully as some of these kids do to _my_ mother, I would've gotten a hefty spanking.

I sigh as I remember I have to take the damn subway, and begin walking towards the hospital. It's such a bother that Naruto never lets me take my damn car around here. What we do is already fucking suspicious, what difference is having a car parked on the side of the road going to make? I can't understand the way he thinks, but, then again, would I even want to?

And that stupid file, what the hell am I going to do with it? I reach into my bag to check that it's still there, my fingers greeted with the manila envelope. What does this concern us for? As if I need another thing for Itachi to worry about like some old guy getting out of jail on good behavior. As far as I'm concerned, anybody at his age should be just about retired, _especially_ from this life. I'm sure if my father were still alive, at almost sixty he'd probably be just about done with Akatsuki.

His name does sound disturbingly familiar though: Orochimaru. I'm sure it's just another person Itachi has been annoyingly allusive about. Doesn't sound like a good name, really; doesn't look like a good guy, either. Though, looks can be very deceiving, and I've had to learn that the hard way.

It takes me a moment to realize that I've already made it to the hospital. I cut toward the alleyway that's a shortcut to my long subway ride home and find it completely vacant, and unsurprisingly dark. At least there are no damsels in distress in need of saving _today_.

Speaking of which, I can't help but think of that pink-haired doctor every time I pass by the damn hospital. Did she make out alright? She was pretty banged up, but the wounds weren't exactly deadly. It makes me fucking sick to my stomach thinking about those fucking asswipes taking advantage of some poor girl. What loathsome, vile creatures.

I run a hand through my hair that's getting to fucking long and sigh, only to have my breath caught in my throat.

I'm halfway down the alleyway when I spot something out of the corner of my eyes and realize I'm _not_ alone.

I see a silhouette of a burly, brute of a man no more than ten feet ahead of me. "Hey, who's there?" he yells.

Another man surfaces from behind him, nearly the same size. His boots clap loudly against the wet pavement. "What the hell do you want?" he sneers.

For a moment, I feel my nerves overcome me, but then I smirk. Idiots. Wait until they realize who they're talking to.

I don't respond, and take another step closer. I don't even bother reaching for the gun in its holster, and keep my hands shoved deeply into my pockets.

"Hey, fucker, we're talking to you!" he yells, and the voice is almost annoyingly familiar. "Don't take another step closer, man, unless you got a death wish!"

"I wouldn't use that tone with me," I hiss, but they don't seem to budge. The alleyway is incredibly dark, save for a few splashes of light from the blistering afternoon sun against the wet bricks.

"We got a tough guy over here," the other one responds, and begins stepping closer to me. "I wouldn't be a smartass if I were you."

I see the other guy fish for something in his pocket.

I continue in my approach, but they don't seem to have any interesting in making room for my passing. With a sigh, I head toward the light to let them know just who they're talking to.

"'Ey, 'Tashi, show 'em who's boss," he yells, and it's not until a gun goes off that I realize it's too late.

Heat sears through my shoulder, spreading down my bicep, and to what feels like my chest. I yell out before I can stop myself. I feel my suit jacket begin to soak with blood like spilled water. I fall to my knees, my hands grappling the wet pavement. All I see is white for a moment before the alleyway fades very quickly to darkness.

Their voices seem so far away now. I hear one yell, "Fuck, man, that's Sasuke Uchiha!" but it's too late for my name to mean anything.

"L-Let's get out of here!" the other stammers, and I catch a glimpse of their faces in a stream of light before they're dashing past me out of the alleyway.

Those are the two men that attacked Sakura just weeks ago.

I automatically regret not taking them seriously, but it really isn't time to reflect on my arrogance. With a long groan, I grab my shoulder and push up against the floor to lift myself. I rise to my feet, and automatically feel the weight of the injury. I've been shot before, and it never gets easier. I count my lucky stars that right beside me is one of the most prestigious hospitals in New York.

And a very important doctor who owes me favor.

* * *

With blurred vision, it takes a few seconds for my eyes to register what floor her practice is on. Nobody seems to be particularly aware of the bleeding man in front of the directory, so I make it to the elevator without being stopped. Some hospital.

The elevator ride is endless, and empty. It doesn't stop once on it's way to the twelfth floor. I grip my shoulder so tightly that my knuckles go white, and feel blood that should be drying become replaced with more of the red and sticky stuff. I can feel myself shaking, and I'm freezing. I know I'm losing too much blood. In retrospect, I should have wrapped the wound to stop the bleeding, but it's a little too late for that, now.

The elevator halts to a shaky stop in front of a vast hallway deserted save for two nurses idly chatting to the right. I take my chances and make a left. I push the swinging doors open with my good shoulder, and am greeted with a nearly empty office.

There's a tiny girl sitting at the front desk who doesn't seem to notice me right away, wrapped up in a stack of manila folders. She clucks her tongue, and taps her pencil, and only glances at me when I cough very loudly.

Her eyes widen almost automatically. "Uh, sir, are you alright?" she asks me in a tiny, shy voice.

I shake my head, and only say, "Sakura Haruno." It's all I can muster at the moment, gripping the wound for dear life. I'm glad nobody is here to see me like this, though I don't think they'd have the gall to say anything about it.

"D-Dr. Haruno?" she stammers, and I automatically know that I'm in the right office. "What about her?"

"I need to see her," I bite out through gritted teeth.

She nods her head, wild brown hair flying around her tiny face. "Um, of course, sir, I'm just going to need a name—"

"She knows me," I insist. "She'll know who I am."

She clucks her tongue. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to need some type of identification—"

"I don't have any," I lie. I could very easily reach into my pocket and shove her my license, but I'm clearly preoccupied at the moment. I can't tell if she's blind or stupid, but if it isn't obvious enough that I'm gripping something in pain, you'd think she could at least see the blood. "My name isn't any of your business. It doesn't _matter_."

She frowns very clearly, eyebrows furrowing in concern. She looks torn. "Sir, I can't just let you—"

"She owes me," I tell her. "Get Sakura Haruno, now, or let me in, I don't care—I need to see Sakura."

She pauses for a moment, looking clearly worried, before carefully saying, "Alright." She scurries off nonetheless to what I can only assume is Sakura's office, but who really knows; she just as easily could have gone off to get security, but I somehow don't believe that.

I wait for what feels like an eternity. My body has almost completely gone out of shock, and is becoming overwhelmed with white-hot pain. Getting shot isn't a fucking joke, and a part of me regrets not going straight to the emergency room, but, like many instances in my life, it's a little too late for that.

The nurse comes out in a flurry with a bright pink blush on her face. "Dr. Haruno will see you now."

I smirk and nod my head. I'm not surprised that Sakura is letting me in. Hell, I wonder if she even knows or realizes it's me. The nurse turns around, and I see her bake shaking with nerves, but don't comment on it. I can't _blame_ her.

She brings me to what appears to be Sakura's office, door ajar, and ushers me in without a word. She's gone before I can even thank her, but I'm quickly distracted by the quick gasp as I enter the room.

There she is, in all her glory, sitting at her desk, gaping at me like a fish. She looks so young, about as young as that nurse, but she has to be almost thirty, if not older. She's actually fairly attractive when she's not caked in her own blood in a dark alleyway. There's another woman next to her staring at me with wide, prying eyes.

My smirk only widens. "Long time, no see, Sakura."

Her big, green eyes widen another fraction, if that's even possible. "Sasuke…" she whispers, and she's looking at me as if I've grown two heads.

As great as the reunion is, my pain is even greater. All it takes is my wincing for her wide-open mouth to turn into a tight frown. "Sasuke, what the hell happened to you?" she asks.

"Who is this guy?" the blonde asks, suddenly coming to her senses. She very rudely points at me, and fixes me with an icy glare. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Ino, stop," Sakura whispers, and shuts her down with a wave of her hand. "Sasuke, what are you doing here?"

I smirk and shake my head. "It seems I've gotten myself into a bit of trouble."

Her frown deepens. "You're bleeding."

"Clearly," I deadpan, and cluck my tongue. I see the crutches leaning against her desk, and notice her wince as she rises slowly out of her chair. My smirk settles into a frown. "How's your stomach?"

"I bruised my spleen," she offers, and purses her lips. "What happened to you?"

I shrug, and automatically wince, feeling the bullet shift in my muscle tissue. She takes another step closer, her heels clicking against the linoleum, and sighs very loudly. "Can I take a look at it?"

I make a noise of acknowledgement and nod my head, the pain causing a loss of words. She falls behind me and shuts the door to her office before peeling my hand off of my bicep without another question. The air against the wound burns like fire and I desperately try to apply pressure once again, but she fights me off.

I automatically hear her breath catch in her throat as she is greeted with what I'm sure is a gaping hole. "Oh my _god,"_ she whispers. "Sasuke,_ what the fuck?"_

The blonde woman's eyes widen and she's closer now than I even realized, inspecting the accident. "Is that… is that a _gunshot wound?"_

"You were shot in the shoulder so you came to my office to have it checked out?" she quakes. "You didn't think going to the emergency room would be a better idea? Or, yet, calling nine-one-one when you were shot?"

I wasn't exactly thinking very clearly at the moment of getting shot, but I don't say that. I don't even dignify her with a response. If I had _thought_ of going to the ER, doesn't she think I would have _gone there?_

"Should I—Should I get someone?" the other woman asks, but Sakura ignores her, eyes doing as best as they can to gauge the gunshot.

"What the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Sasuke?" she exclaims, her voice clearly beginning to rise. I feel my temple pulse, and I'm not surprised that my fever is turning into a headache at her squeaky voice. _"Why_ would you come _here_ after getting _shot?"_

"Stop yelling," I finally hiss. "If those were options, I would have went." As much as it would have made sense to go to the stupid ER anyway, I'm not interested in explaining a gunshot wound to a bunch of doctors who can Google my name and find out exactly who the hell I am. The last thing I need right now is to get myself in any kind of trouble.

"It's not like you got a paper cut," she yells. "You were shot!"

I growl, "Sakura, you have to stop screaming—"

"Listen, Sasuke Uchiha," she snaps, but seems to be making a move toward her desk. She throws open a drawer and starts fishing through it. "I don't know who you are, or what you do—"

"I think you do," I say, somehow mustering another smirk.

"You know what, you're right!" she bellows. "I know exactly who you are, and exactly what you do! All I had to do was Google your damn name!"

Just as I thought. "I'm aware," I say.

"Either way, I can't just treat a gunshot wound in my office," she tells me, her frown deepening, but I see her grab a pair of tweezers from the drawer. She scurries over to me, careful of her side, and assesses the wound with scrutinizing eyes. "Take off your jacket," she instructs, and I do so.

She looks at my arm carefully, and makes a comment that seems more to herself, "You've lost a lot of blood."

"I know."

She clucks her tongue. "Shirt off, too," she instructs, and I consider making a lewd comment, but vote against it seeing as she's the only one that can help me at the moment. I peel the shirt off, and wince when I have to take it off the wounded arm. It sticks to my skin from the blood like glue. I'm sure I've peeled off a little extra skin with its removal, but she doesn't say anything about it. "This is a clean shot, you're lucky." Lucky being the operative word.

I sigh loudly, and push my hair caked with a thick layer of sweat out of my eyes. I can feel the heat of the fever radiating toward my hand. "Listen, I wouldn't have come here unless I really needed your help."

"And why should I help you?" she asks, glaring. She reaches into the pocket of her lab coat and grabs an antiseptic wipe, and begins cleaning the skin around the bullet wound, clearing out the dry blood. "I know exactly what you do, Sasuke Uchiha—"

"Help innocent women in alleyways?" I ask. I wince when I feel the sting of the antiseptic against the open flesh.

She ignores my comment. "Ino, grab me the peroxide off the cabinet over there," she directs her blonde friend.

She seems to be in shock more than anything, but she nods her head, her ponytail flying around. She passes Sakura the brown bottle, and Sakura immediately screws the bottle open. "This is going to hurt," she tells me, and doesn't wait for a response before dousing the bullet with the stuff.

I groan before I can even stop myself and feel my knees buckle. It stings like a bitch, and it's far more painful than Neosporin on a scab. My groan catches in my throat when I feel the metal tweezers dig into the flesh, and remove the bullet before what even feels like a second passes. There's a clear sound of squishing flesh that causes me to grimace, but the relief afterward is worth it.

I release a breath I didn't even realize I was holding. "Thanks," I whisper.

"Whatever," she says. "You're lucky the bullet came out in one piece, or you'd be going into surgery." She lifts up the bullet to my line of sight, and shoots me a glare. "You're not done yet, take a seat."

I do as she instructs. She turns to her friend and whispers something in her ear that I can't quite make out over the ringing in my head. The relief of the departure is gone and the pain is back at the cool air against the gaping hole. My vision goes blank for a second, before settling back to a blur.

I hear the door slam shut and realize I'm alone with Sakura when she takes a seat at her desk. "What I'm doing for you, this never leaves the room."

I nod. "That's fine by me."

"I can get in trouble for this, you know," she explains. "This is illegal."

I roll my eyes. "I'm aware."

"I'm stealing medical supplies for you," she says, and I bite my tongue. She yanks out a pad and pen and starts jotting down notes. "What's your blood type?"

"Why?" I ask, but then say anyway, "AB negative."

"If you're going to let me clean you up, you're going to let me do a blood transfusion, no buts," she dictates. "You've lost too much blood."

"Fine," I bite.

"It's going to be uncomfortable, and I can't use anything more than local anesthetic on you," she explains. "It's going to hurt."

I nod my head—as if I haven't dealt with worse; y'know, like walking to a hospital after getting shot. Or having a bullet removed with nothing more than antiseptic.

"The wound isn't fatal," she explains, furiously writing. "But the blood loss is, as you know."

"Aa." I nod my head.

"Weight?" she asks, still scribbling in her notebook.

I raise an eyebrow. "Is that really necessary?"

She pauses and looks up at me with something fierce in her eyes. "Are you really in a position to be asking these questions?" she retorts.

I smirk, slightly impressed. She knows exactly who I am, and her spunk is almost… endearing. "One-eighty."

She nods her head and smiles obviously at having gotten her way before looking back down at the steno pad. "Height?" she asks.

"Six-foot-two." I see her bite her lip and a tiny flush surface on her round cheeks, and can't help the widening of my smirk.

"Alright," she whispers, finishing up the sheet. She leans back in her chair and sighs loudly, pushing her long bangs out of her face. "Ino should be back soon with the supplies."

I simply nod.

She places her elbows on the desk, cupping her face in her hands. She stares at me blankly for a moment before asking, "How'd you sustain the injury?"

I'm almost taken aback. As if that's any of her damn business, but I simply raise an eyebrow instead. "Excuse me?"

"How'd you sustain the injury?" she repeats. "How'd you get shot?"

"I know what you were asking," I hiss, and glare. "It's just none of your business."

She returns the glare easily. "It is my business when you walk into my fucking office bleeding to death and expect me wrap you up."

"Is that how you speak to all of your patients?" I quip. I know I'm pushing my luck, but for some reason I don't feel like she'll turn me away.

"Only the incorrigible ones." She flips her short, pink hair over her shoulder and smiles coyly at me. It's almost surprising how attractive she is, despite the fact that she could pass for twelve years old on a good day.

I fight down what feels like a blush. The fever must be going to my fucking head. "You owed me a favor," I say.

"I didn't realize I had to pay for you saving my life." She scoffs. "You know, most people just do good things without being asked."

"I'm not most people," I counter.

"Apparently not," she agrees.

There is a soft knock at the door that I can only assume is that blonde nurse. With a drawn sigh, she gracelessly walks toward the door, not without a wince, thrusting it open in obvious annoyance. "Uh, I got what you needed," the nurse says.

"Thanks," Sakura whispers. "Just wheel it in." She throws the door open and allows her friend to leave the supplies before insisting she leave, to which the blonde reluctantly complies.

She saunters toward my when Ino is finally gone and begins assessing the wound again. "You're going to need stitches," she explains. She reaches for a very long, intimidating needle off the cart and tells me, "I'm going to apply the local." She doesn't even wait for my nod before shoving the damn thing into my bicep.

"Fuck," I hiss, shaking my head. I already feel the sweat gathering at my hairline.

I hear her laugh. "The almighty Uchiha taken down with a needle."

"Bite me," I groan.

I see her roll her eyes out of the corner of mine before she tucks into her work. I feel her nimble fingers work at my flesh through latex gloves, carefully cleaning the wound even further with a cotton swab. It doesn't hurt as badly as before, but the local anesthetic still leaves a sting.

Halfway through cleaning she says, "I'm very impressed. Most people would have passed out from the pain by now."

It takes all I have in me not to shrug, knowing that any unintended prick from unintentional movement is going to hurt like a fucking bitch. "I'm not most people."

"Aa, so you've said," she hums, and continues with the cleaning. Moments pass by before I realize she's almost halfway through sewing, the pain becoming less enabling by the moment. I know the anesthetic is beginning to ware off, but I don't make a comment on it seeing as she's almost completed. When she's done, I hear the thread snap as she makes a noise of approval.

"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" she asks, like I'm a child coming in for a scrape.

I scoff. "Yeah, whatever."

She laughs. "A thank you would be nice." She runs a hand through her hair, pushing the fringe out of her eyes. "I'll order your transfusion." She walks carefully over to her desk and lowers herself into her chair without recoil. She grabs the phone off the receiver and begins dialing,

"Who are you calling?" I ask, watching her carefully. She may have helped me, but that doesn't mean I trust her.

"Ino again—hello, Ino?" she asks into the receiver, pausing for a moment. "I need you to order a transfusion of AB negative as quickly as possibly. If they ask for who please say it's for…" she trails off, quickly sifting through a stack of files on her desk. "Renji Shikushi." There's a pause. "Just do as I say, Ino." She hangs up with a harsh thrust, obviously annoyed, if only slightly.

Silence befalls the room before she turns to me again, biting her lip. She begins staring at me, scrutinizing me carefully, and I start to feel a blush creep up my face. Who the hell likes to be stared at?

"Quit staring," I hiss.

I see her blush again, but she ignores my comment. Really, who does this girl thing she is? "How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," I say, frowning.

"I bet," she agrees. "The transfusion shouldn't take more than a half hour."

I nod, leaning deeper into the chair, and try to close my eyes. The room falls quiet once more before I decide, despite myself, to whisper, "Uh, thanks."

I don't even have to open my eyes to see how surprised she looks. "You're welcome." She offers me a tiny, pretty smile.

I finally open my eyes fully and stare at her a moment before smiling a little, too. We hold eye contact for what feels like an eternity.

Before that annoying blonde woman suddenly opens the door without even knocking, a dull look on her face. I can't help but feel like a moment has been ruined. I see Sakura's face fall automatically. "I set up the transfusion in one of the rooms, just come with me," she demands, staring me down with what I think she believes is a powerful glare.

I frown. "But—"

"No one's going to find out," she says with a huff, storming off down the hall. "Just follow me."

I snort, and turn to Sakura. "She's rude."

"Go follow her, okay? You'll get the transfusion and you can leave," she insists, and points to the wheelchair the nurse has so kindly left for me in the wake of the door. I roll my eyes.

I stare at it for a long moment before sighing and very slowly standing from the office chair. "And no one will find out about this?" I ask, pausing in my slow walk toward the wheelchair.

She shakes her head and smiles. "No one." With relief, I plop down on the wheelchair. I grip the wheels with my hands, and see that Ino is already far gone with no intention of pushing me. Her next words are more of a demand more than a recommendation, "But try not to get shot again."

I shrug and smirk. "No promises."

* * *

It feels like forever before I'm finally out of the godforsaken hospital, but I'm nothing less than grateful. She took care of me, and nobody has to find out about it.

Though, I can't help but think how much I'm probably taking advantage of her, not unlike the many people in my life. That's another thought for another day.

I don't know why I do it, but I wait around the entrance. It's not like I have anywhere to be, anyway. I finally catch her while she's leaving, around five o'clock, and know the least I can do is walk her home—especially with those maniacs lurking down the alleyway impossibly close to the hospital. Perhaps I should inform Naruto of that, get the police on their trail. That's probably a good idea.

She raises an eyebrow when she sees me, and she looks exhausted. With a sigh, she asks, "Sasuke, what are you still doing here?"

I shrug. "Waiting for you," I admit.

She pushes forward, but then stops and waits for me to catch up to her, holding onto her crutches tightly. She frowns. "Why? What now? Stabbed on your way out of the hospital?"

I roll my eyes. "I actually came to thank you, Sakura."

She automatically looks flustered, but doesn't seem ready to back down. "Yeah, well, what do you want, Sasuke?"

I shrug, but wince when I remember the stitches on my side. My hand automatically flies up to my bicep, squeezing tightly in an attempt at soothing.

She doesn't seem concerned, just rolls her eyes. "Don't be stupid or you'll rip your stitches.

"I _know_ that," I hiss, and shoot her a glare. She doesn't seem fazed. "How long until I can get these out?"

"Go see your doctor in about two or three weeks," she explains to me, and begins walking past me. Her crutches crash loudly against the sidewalks.

I raise an eyebrow as I catch up to her. "My doctor?"

She laughs. "Or me, I guess," she clarifies, and smiles. She has the whitest, brightest smile I've maybe ever seen, but it's not startling. She looks like a girl who smiles often. "You can come see me soon."

I nod my head, and fall beside her. I have to take smaller steps next to her tiny feet to not overstep the pace, and I'm sure the bolsters don't help. "Thank you," I repeat.

She shrugs. "Don't worry about it, I guess," she lies. I see her eyes sparkle with something that looks like regret, but it's none of my business, so I don't comment. It's too late to reflect on anything; she's already sewn me up. She looks at me very carefully before asking, once again, "What happened to you?"

"I was shot," I tell her, and smirk when I see her glare at me.

"I _know_ that, asshole." She tries stepping ahead of me, but I easily catch up to her. Her glare sharpens. "What are you doing, following me?"

"Most people call it walking their friends home, Sakura," I explain, and almost regret referring to her as my friend.

She brushes it off, to my ease. "Yeah, well, I can take care of myself."

I raise an eyebrow. "So how'd you get in those crutches, Sakura?"

She grunts in annoyance, a pretty pink color that matches her hair settling on her cheeks. She's not only childish in her looks, but her temper, apparently. "You're so _obnoxious_, Sasuke."

"It's part of my charm," I quip, and shove my hands in my pocket. The shirt scratches against my arm, the dry blood causing an unbearable itch. I just want to get home and change. "Where do you live?" I ask.

"I guess you'll find out," she says, and smiles.

I nod. "I guess so."

We walk in a comfortable silence for a few more blocks, and she doesn't seem like she has any intention of making me leave. It's almost comical; she knows exactly who I am, but has no qualms with taking me to her home and knowing where she lives.

I almost comment on it, but decide not to when she finally stops in front of a tall, brick building no more than fifteen minutes from the hospital. "This is my stop."

It's nice enough, nothing too lavish or extravagant, with big windows, and stained slabs holding it up. It's tall—I wonder what floor she lives on—and surely not opulent enough to have a doorman or anything of the sort. "You live close."

"It's optimal," she muses, and giggles. She has a nice laugh; her voice is fairly pleasant, actually, and soothing, even. She doesn't make you feel particularly nervous, which is a great quality to have when concerning bedside manor. "Thanks for walking me home, Sasuke."

I shrug, and it doesn't hurt as much this time. "The pleasure is all mine."

She rolls her eyes, and begins carefully making her way toward the door before turning around toward me and smiling. "Take care of yourself, please."

I smirk. "No promises."

She rolls her eyes. "Try to get some manners, too, while you're at it."

I roll my eyes, and say, "Goodbye, Sakura."

She smiles softly, an attractive smile, and begins walking toward her door before I realize something and call out to stop her, "Oh, Sakura, wait!"

She turns around, a flurry of pink, and stares at me with a raised eyebrow. Her expressions change so quickly you can get whiplash, and I know this already only having known her for a few hours, really. "What?"

I smirk. "Give me your phone."

She looks taken aback for a moment, only to frown. She's not as pretty when she frowns. A part of me regrets my vagueness, but I kind of like fucking with her. "Why?"

I nearly laugh at her questions. "To give you my number, obviously."

She stares at me for a long moment, a drawn, dry gaze meant to convey annoyance, but she's nothing near intimidating in the slightest. She opens her mouth for a second, only to close it, and then open it again. "Uh." She clucks her tongue.

I do chuckle this time. "Just, y'know, if you ever need it."

She stays planted for one moment longer, only to nod her head. She doesn't smile, and keeps a seemingly annoyed expression on her face, but she digs for her phone in her pocket nonetheless. She thrusts it towards me, and nods. "Go ahead, then."

I put in my name, and my number quickly. Maybe I shouldn't give her my personal line? No, I will—trouble seems to follow this girl.

After I'm finished, I give the phone back to her with a small smirk. "No harm, no foul."

Her raised eyebrow lifts even higher. "Excuse me?"

I shake my head. "If you need me, call me, okay?"

She scoffs. "Who says I'll need you?"

"I didn't say you will," I explain, and hide a smirk that I know will only annoy her further. "Just—I mean it, if you just want to call me, you can."

She looks like she's going to say something, probably snippy, but instead nods her head slowly, dumbly, almost, before once again stepping toward her apartment. She pauses again, and then shakes her head and laughs; the girl has mood swings like a playground. "Whatever you say, Sasuke!" I wait for her to scale the short steps. Before entering, she sings, "I'll see you soon!" without even turning around and steps into her building.

I chuckle under my breath, and wait another moment before turning toward the streets. I realize that the area isn't quite bustling. She's chosen a lovely spot to live, apparently. I can just hope there's a damn subway around here so I don't have to walk all the way back to the hospital.

Not unlike early, I swing a left and hope that I'll come across a turnstile. My hand wanders to my shoulder. I drag my fingers across the wound and sigh; just three weeks until I can get these damn stitches out.

Just three weeks until I see Sakura again.

* * *

**lol this is mad long, but you've made it this far, so REVIEW. Take the time and leave something nice! Or mean! Idc! REVIEWWW!**

**Sorry I'm late with the update, I had a crazy weekend, but I needed a crazy weekend. Maybe I'll update twice this week. Or twice next week. Or maybe I won't. idk.**

**Working on finishing up Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater, and updating love at first sight heck yeeeeaaaaah.**

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	5. ey, baby, lie to me

**fuhgeddaboudit!**

theeflowerchild

5\. 'ey, baby, lie to me

* * *

Sasuke Uchiha smiles like he knows something.

He curls his lips like a Cheshire cat, like he knows exactly what you're thinking, like there's a secret he'll never tell. He taunts you like your childhood days, chanting, _"I know something you don't know,"_ without even uttering a word. Sasuke Uchiha mocks you with twinkling brown eyes, and an allusive smirk, and it's the most pestiferous thing I have ever seen in my entire life.

"Goodbye, Sasuke," I whisper one last time, shutting the door behind me. I turn to see him lingering through the glass, smirking devilishly, an undisclosed smirk. He turns on his heels, and walks away without looking back.

I can't help but snort. What an arrogant _jerk_.

And giving me his phone number—does he really expect me to _call him?_ When would I need him, anyway? God, I'm mugged _one time_ and the guy thinks I need a freaking bodyguard. As if have anything to say to him! I'll remove his stitches in a few weeks, and promptly send him on his way! Like I need his number to do that.

I quickly shut my phone off and throw it in my pocket.

I begin slowly ascending the stairs, careful of my obvious limp. I'm really getting tired of this stupid hindrance, all because a bunch of buffoons had to jump me in an alleyway. Hell, the limp isn't the _only_ hindrance I've acquired since that stupid happenstance.

I'm lucky I live on the second floor, because seven flights would be a real pain in the ass. I dig for my keys in the pocket of my lab coat, and pull out the petal pink keychain my mother got for me. I don't know where she got the idea that my favorite color is pink, but she only buys me pink things, nonetheless. Maybe it's the hair…

I shove the key deep into the lock and jiggle it a little bit—there's always a problem with the freaking door, and I should really just get it fixed, or make Kiba do it, or something—

Before I can even get the door unlocked, though, it's thrown upon so quickly that I almost stumble—straight into someone's chest. I'm immediately overwhelmed by the smell of firewood, and wet dog, _of course._ Hands wander to my waist, and steady my body. "You're too clumsy," he says, chest rumbling with laughter.

I look up with a tiny frown and am greeted by the blinding smile of my boyfriend. "It's your fault for not letting me open the damn door by myself."

He shrugs, and steps away, allowing for me to enter. "You seemed like you were struggling, babe."

"I can take care of myself," I snap, and pass by him with a huff. These crutches knock the wind out of me; it's like working out trying to push myself around with these damn things. Honestly, if I didn't know any better, I'd throw them to the side and start walking on my own. It'd be a hell of a lot more convenient.

He laughs again, and it's raspy and warm. "Cranky?"

I can't help the scowl that surfaces; it's been a long day. "I'm not _cranky."_ I throw my crap down onto the kitchen table at the entrance of the apartment. It's a tiny little home we have; there's no foyer, and the first thing you're greeted with is the tiny dining room, with a little kitchenette off to the side. I plop down in one of the chairs, and stretch my tired legs. "It's been a long day."

He casts me a long look, like he's _amused_. Bastard. "I can tell. You're late, missy."

"Like I have a curfew, _Dad."_ I kick my shoes off of my feet. Just another week of these hideous keds, and I can finally break out my beautiful heels again. I should probably wait at least three more weeks, but when you think about it, it really is a crime against fashion to wear these ugly things, and we won't even get into my height.

He chuckles. "Those shoes aren't _that_ bad," he says, knowing. He sits across from me at the table, and offers me the toothy grin he's famous for. His large, red tattoos stretch on his cheeks, his warm brown eyes oozing into something familiar, something that makes my heart swell. As annoying as he can be, Kiba is also the only person who can make me feel good after a long fucking day with just his lovely, familiar smile. "I did make you some coffee, baby, but it's cold now…"

"Thank you," I whisper, and grab one of his hands off the table, intertwining my fingers with his. He has such large, warm hands, calloused from work. My frown turns into a smile immediately at his heat. "Have you been home for a while?"

He shrugs and squeezes my hand. "Only a few hours. It was pretty dead today."

"Any really cute puppies?" I ask. He immediately lights up. Sometimes I think the only thing that can make Kiba _truly_ happy is dogs; it's really too bad we aren't allowed pets in the building… Even I'd like an adorable puppy around the house.

"Oh, hell yeah!" he says, and grins wildly. "I mean, Sak, _all_ puppies are cute, but—"

I cut him off with a laugh. "I know, I know—so it was a good day?"

He nods, his shaggy brown hair shaking around his head. He really could use a haircut, but that's a fight I'm not willing to have today. "Yeah, no incidents or anything."

"That's good," I say, and my smile widens. As much as Kiba loves his job, he still has a hard time dealing with the bad things that come with the good, and it's nice to see him have a really good day every once in a while. I love seeing him smile. "I'll put more coffee on?"

He shakes his head, and nods toward the kitchen. "I already put some more on, it should be done soon."

I raise an eyebrow. "How did you know it'd be warm when I got home?"

Suddenly, his kind grin turns into an incredibly sheepish one, a guilty look in his eyes. "Well, you see, Sak, I uh," he stammers. "I was minding my own business when I saw the beautiful sun blaring through the blinds, and decided to open up the window, and—"

I cut him off with a roll of my eyes. "You saw me."

He shrugs. "Who was that guy?" he asks me, but he seems curious more than anything else. "The one with the black hair?"

I pause for a moment. What on earth do I tell him? Oh, he's Sasuke Uchiha—y'know, the guy in the mafia. I was just cleaning up a gunshot wound for him, and he walked me home! How nice, right? Oh, and don't worry, he gave me his number, too, so we're safe.

I bite my lip. "Some guy asking for directions," I lie.

He looks uneasy for a moment, watches me carefully, and then slowly nods his head. "Was he bothering you?"

I shake my head. "No, of course not—and either way, Kiba, I can—"

"Take care of yourself, I know." He laughs, boyish and warm. His scratchy tenor is something I look forward to almost too often. "Why were you late, then? It can't take someone _three hours_ to give directions."

I raise an eyebrow. "What, don't trust me?"

I hear the ringing of the coffee machine go off, but he's up before I can even carefully lift myself out of the chair. I bite back a sigh. Honestly, I'm not sure if I'm even teasing him or not. Sometimes he's too curious, too invasive; some people would call it overprotectiveness, but…

"Sakura, you know I trust you—"

I laugh, but it's dishonest and dry. "I'm just kidding, Kiba."

He sighs, exasperated, but he doesn't push it. It's another fight we're not in the mood to have. I see him put a little cream in my coffee just the way I like it, and he places it in front of me. "Too light?" he asks.

I smile. "Nope, just right."

He grins, and takes his seat across from me once again. "Good, good." There's a short silence that spans between us, and I watch him carefully. He doesn't seem angry, just sips his coffee slowly, eyebrows knitted in thought, or concentration, I'm not sure. Silences with Kiba are always comfortable, and almost always never very long. This is no exception. "Any problems at the hospital?" he asks me softly, carefully, and I know it's a loaded question.

He's obviously trying to figure out why I'm late without asking directly. I throw him a bone. "No, not really," I lie, again. Sasuke is really none of his business, and once I take his stitches out, I'll never have to see him again. Anyway, there's doctor-patient confidentiality that I'm not about to breach… Whether or not Sasuke is _actually_ a patient.

He nods his head slowly, and takes another long sip of his coffee. "Busy day? Lots of patients?"

I nod my head. My coffee is too light, I realize as I take a sip of it, but I'm not interested in asking for another cup. "Yeah, I guess." Another lie. It was dead today, really, until Sasuke stumbled in, bloodied and battered and shot and—

Ugh, Sakura, _stop thinking about him_.

"I guess that's good," he says, and smiles. I know he's hurt, I can tell by the curve of his mouth, because Kiba doesn't just share soft smiles. He _grins_, wildly, toothily, and honestly. Kiba is a smiler, more than I will ever be, and I almost feel guilty, but I don't, because I don't owe him anything.

I cast the clock a long look, and realize it's almost six thirty. "Damn it," I mutter. I have the early shift tomorrow, six AM, and I'm sure Kiba had other plans, but I really need some sleep. "I have work early tomorrow."

He frowns immediately. He was probably hoping to spend a little time with me, but I can't help my schedule. "What time?" he asks.

"Six." It's not like I _enjoy_ the early shift or something. In fact, I despise it, and I'd much rather work the late, late shift, but it's not like I get to choose. Tsunade does whatever she wants with me, and I obey if I ever want to be head of the hospital like her some day. "And I haven't really slept in a while," I add.

He nods, and his frown deepens. "You're going to bed, then?"

I nod my head. "I really should…"

He sighs, and his frown turns back into a forced smile. "Alright, go, I'll join you in a little."

I shake my head. "Kiba, you don't have to—"

"When's the last time we got to sleep together, babe?" he asks me, and his smile is incredibly soft. "It feels like it's been months."

I roll my eyes. "Quit exaggerating. You'll hyperbolize your life away."

He laughs, and it makes my stomach turn, but I'm not sure if it's because I enjoy it so much, or because I feel a little guilty. "Go get changed. I could use some sleep, anyway."

I almost consider telling him no, that he should just do what he wants to do, and that he doesn't have to go to bed with me, but I don't. I'll let him, this time. He's right, I can't remember the last time I fell asleep in his arms; I miss it, sometimes.

I'm just not sure if it's him I miss, or the affection itself.

* * *

I stare at the stupid freaking number on my screen, glowing brightly. What does he even expect me to do with this? Just call him for a chat? Like I need to talk to _Sasuke Uchiha_ of all people, tell him about my problems. He's got some problems, that's for sure. Maybe I should have given him a number for a psychiatrist instead. God knows the guy needs one.

I notice the Brooklyn area code and shake my head. I wonder where exactly he grew up; it _would_ be Brooklyn, wouldn't it? Home of the mafia, and every gang I can think of.

_I_ grew up in Brooklyn. I remember my mother telling me to watch out _because_ of people like Sasuke Uchiha, and now I have his damn number in my phone. Who is he going to protect me from, _himself?_ As if he's any different from those stupid idiots that held me up in the alleyway! They knew him, didn't they? In fact, _his_ name struck fear in those two imbeciles! Meaning he's much, much worse!

Or maybe I'm just psyching myself out. He _did_ save me, after all, and I never thanked him…

No, what am I thinking? As if I have to _thank_ him after removing a fucking bullet from his shoulder. I did what I had to do in return. Whatever I _owed_ him has certainly been paid back. I owe him _nothing_, let alone a freaking thank you for wandering into _my_ office for help! And he could have been putting people in danger! What if those two thugs had followed him, and hurt patients? And he scared the shit out of my nurse! Does the guy ever _think?_

"Sakura?" a voice interrupts me, and I look up with a short gasp, only to be greeted by my teacher, and the head of the hospital.

I realize how freaking ridiculous I must look, probably red in the face, staring intently at my phone screen.

I sit up immediately, and quickly shut it off, and throw it down onto my desk. This guy isn't even worth the stress; I just have to stop thinking about him. I throw my hands into my lap and muster the most innocent smile I can, leaning towards her. "Oh, uh, Tsunade, hey!"

"You alright there?" she asks, and she looks amused. She strolls into the office, heels clicking against the linoleum, and plops down gracelessly onto one of my chairs. She crosses her long legs, and smiles at me.

Tsunade is an incredibly beautiful woman, and for fifty-something, she looks freaking amazing—no, really, absolutely flawless. It's no wonder guys still go nuts over her, with her endless legs, tiny waist, and probably the biggest breasts I've ever seen. How does she not even have any wrinkles, anyway? Maybe skin care will come along with her training…

I shake my head, and push my long, pink bangs out of my face. "Yeah, of course, I'm fine."

She raises a thin, perfectly plucked eyebrow at me. "You seem a little…" she trails off, and thinks for a moment. "Preoccupied," she finishes, and smirks.

I shrug, and blush a little. "I'm fine, _really_."

She watches me carefully for a moment, eyes the color of honey staring at me intently, before shaking her head. Her blonde hair flies around her, straight, and long. "Whatever you say, Sakura."

I smile the best smile I can muster in my embarrassment. Stupid Sasuke Uchiha, stupidly making me act ridiculous, stupid—

"How were rounds this morning?" she asks me, staring at her painted nails. There isn't a single woman I know as put together as Tsunade—well, maybe Ino—and it's both impressive and intimidating at the same time. While I may have the same talent, and intelligence as my teacher, I don't have her presence, or confidence. Hell, _nobody_ does.

But fake it 'til you make it, right?

"Everyone is fine," I explain. "Suzuka looked a little pale, so I gave her some oxygen, and she was back to normal in no time."

She nods her head. "Good, good, that's good…" she trails off, and sighs. When she finally looks up, she stares me down for a moment, eyes me very cautiously, and I can't help but feel a little embarrassed. "Listen, Sakura, I'm not really here to chit chat."

I nod my head slowly in return. "Okay."

"Something happened," she says, cryptically. "And I need to know if you know anything about it, but, to be honest, I really don't think you do."

"Of course." I offer a smile, and a part of me already knows what she's going to ask about. "If there's anything I can do to help, I will."

"I expect nothing less from you, Sakura," she says, and smiles proudly at me, but it falls before I can enjoy it. "As you know, we try to do inventory as often as possible throughout the hospital."

I nod my head very slowly, and feel my heart race and crash against my ribcage violently. How could she have found out in just a day? Since when does Tsunade keep up her inventory? _Why don't I ever have any luck?_ "Of course."

She flips a long, blonde big tail over one of her shoulders, and sighs. "Shizune was going through the blood bank, and it seems we're short a transfusion."

I try to look as surprised as possible, widening my eyes, dropping my jaw a little. I'm lucky being as tiny, and innocent looking as I am when it comes to situations like these—I can get away with anything. "Really? Short a transfusion? How is that possible?"

She shrugs. "Well, we're not really sure yet, but we're looking into it. Shizune searched further, and we found a missing IV bag, and even some missing scalpels—and, as you know, Sakura, that isn't anything to scoff at."

I nod my head furiously. "Of course, Tsunade, I don't know how anybody could do such a thing!"

She sighs again, loudly, puffing her pretty pink cheeks in exasperation. "If we let something like this continue, the staff is going to thing they can just _steal._ It'll start with scalpels, and end with narcotics."

"I understand." I lean back and sigh along with her, hoping it's believable. She doesn't seem particularly skeptical in the slightest. I count my lucky stars that twenty-eight-year-old Sakura is just as convincing as toddler-Sakura.

"And, as I thought, you had nothing to do with it." She laughs, raspy and warm. I feel myself relax immediately. "Just keep an eye out then, will you? You never know if it's one of your nurses!" she says, and I can't tell if she's joking or not, so I just laugh along with her.

"I'll keep my eye out!" I offer with a giggle.

She begins standing, her dress flurrying around her thighs, and offers me a warm smile. "Nice job with Renji, by the way, he's in full recovery now."

I blush. It isn't often anybody gets a compliment from _Tsunade Senju,_ let alone over something as trivial as recovery. I nod my head, smiling graciously. "Thank you, Tsunade."

"Any time, kid," she says, and grins an attractive grin. Her heels click loudly as she leaves the office, stopping before she makes it to the doorway. She turns around and offers me a kind, warm smile. "You're sure you're okay, Sakura?"

I return the smile carefully, and nod my head. "Of course, Tsunade, thank you for asking."

"Take care of yourself, okay?" she whispers with a wink, and leaves the office before I can respond.

She shuts the door behind her like I should have to begin with, and I sigh, loudly and agitated. Before Sasuke Uchiha, I _never_ would have lied to Kiba, let alone _Tsunade_: my mentor, and my _boss_. How could I be so stupid? I should have just been honest. Hell, I shouldn't have helped that idiot yesterday.

What's wrong with me? Did the accident a few weeks ago rattle something in my _brain?_

I grab my phone once again off the table, and it lights up in my hands, straight to Sasuke Uchiha's number.

I want to yell, but I settle for a loud groan as I throw the phone back onto my desk, and pray that the damn thing just breaks.

…

**Hey, sorry this is kinda late? Lol I've had some bad writer's block, and general disinterest. I kinda feel like this chapter is shit, but I had to introduce Kiba, and Tsunade a little bit. Wooh~~*~*~*~ PLEASE REVIEW! **

**Question: if I wrote a Tarzan-based, SasuSaku fanfic, would you guys read it?**

**And, note: I'm working on an epilogue to Heartstrings! I still get messages about that fic years later, and I've finally decided that it's time to put up a little epilogue! Wooh! **

**REVIEW!**


	6. hey! where do you think you're going?

**fuhgeddaboudit!  
**theeflowerchild

6\. hey! where do you think you're going?

* * *

When I finally get to the apartment it's trashed, of course. The kitchen table is exactly how I left it days ago, with a pile of newspapers nearly starting to tower, and a plate of eggs I'm sure Itachi ate over a week ago growing moss, or something. His keys are in the exact same spot I saw them at the corner of the table, letting me know he hasn't even bothered to leave since I last visited. The floors are caked with thick dust, not that I expected any different.

Out of habit, I leave my shoes at the door, not like it would matter, and place the dinner I bought him on the table—his favorite, Chinese. Hopefully I can get him to keep it down.

I look over toward the cooking area and see the sink toppling over with plates, and glasses, and sigh. I guess I'll be doing dishes if I expect Itachi to eat any of this. Maybe he'll just eat out of the container…

He'll put any drug in his body, but he won't eat out of a damn takeout container. It wouldn't be _polite_.

With another—incredibly deserving, do you see what I put up with?—sigh, I yell, "Itachi!"

I'm greeted with silence.

I purse my lips. "Itachi, hello!" I call out into the seemingly empty apartment. "Where are you?"

I wait another moment and listen closely, taking another step toward the living room. "Itachi?" I ask once more, a little softer.

Finally, I'm responded to by a deep, distant groan. I find him asleep, sprawled out on the floor next to the coffee table. His hair is matted, and greasy, sticking to his face, and his cheeks are stained with what I can only assume is his own drool.

I roll my eyes. "Wake up, you asshole." I walk around the couch and debate giving him a kick, but I'll give him another chance. I'm such a _nice_ brother. "Come on, it's almost seven o'clock, have you been sleeping all day?"

He moans loudly, and props himself up on his elbows. "Something like that," he mumbles through barely parted lips. With a sigh of his own, he blows his long bangs out of his face. "What time is it?"

"Like I said, seven o'clock," I snap with a frown. "When is the last time you showered?" More like, when is the last time you even changed your _clothes?_ He's wearing the same thing I left him in days ago. I wouldn't even be surprised if he hasn't left the living room once. "You smell like shit."

He shoots me a glare through tired eyes. "Respect your elders."

There's nothing respectful about the way he's acting, but I decide not to comment on it. "Yeah, well, get up, I got you dinner," I tell him, and leave him where he is.

I walk over to the kitchen and check the cabinets first for clean plates where there are, of course, none. I should've grabbed paper plates. "No more clean plates?" I yell.

"Does it look like there are?" he counters, and I hear him stumble against the couch as he's probably trying to stand up. He groans, again, and then I hear his bare feet pad against the floors toward the kitchen.

"Just sit," I hiss, and I hear him plop down without argument in the dining room.

I clean two dishes, and two forks as thoroughly as I can, and carry them out to the dining room to find that he's pushed all of his crap to one side of the table and cleared out the other for us to eat.

"What'd you get?" he asks me.

"Why don't you check?" I ask, placing the plate in front of him. If only my mother could see him like this, drool stuck to his cheek, hair a mess on his head, lacking any kind of shower, unable to feed himself.

He sighs, and begins fishing through the paper bag, pulling out takeout containers. "Lo mein?" he asks.

"Of course," I say, and try not to scowl. He opens up one of the containers and begins throwing the food onto his plate in a messy heap. "Don't eat so quickly."

"I know how to eat, Sasuke," he explains, but it sounds more like a reprimand.

I almost argue with him, tell him that the last time he ate he threw it all back up and passed out, but don't. He's not high right now, seemingly, as he tucks into his food without shaking, or spitting, and that's enough for now. "Is it good?"

He nods his head and says, "Thanks."

I watch him eat for a moment. The dark circles around his eyes have gotten seemingly darker, even though all he does is sleep. He looks slimmer, his cheeks hollowed, and his hair is thinning out. He's aged considerably in such a short amount of time. I'm watching him deteriorate before my eyes, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about.

I frown. "How are you feeling, Itachi?"

He spares me a bored glance before looking back down at his food. "I'm fine, as I always am."

I nod my head, and don't even try to counter him. Perhaps this is his fine, perhaps he really doesn't know any better anymore. "I met up with Naruto," I explain. "He called me this morning, out of the blue."

"Is that so?" he asks, but he barely looks interested.

My frown deepens. "Who is Orochimaru, Itachi?"

He pauses for a moment, stares at his food with an expression I can't quite read, before continuing to eat. "I don't think I've ever heard that name."

I raise an eyebrow. "Really? Is that so?"

"Yes, Sasuke." He finally looks up at me, apathetic as ever, with a tiny scowl marring his face. "It is so."

"Naruto said you'd definitely know about him," I say. If his expression isn't enough to tell me that I'd caught him in a lie, the idiot's information sure as hell is. "So, let's cut to the chase, and you explain to me just exactly what you're up to."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not _up to_ anything."

"You're always up to something," I counter.

"Always so dramatic, Sasuke," he says, and then sighs, an incredibly exhausted sigh. He waves me off with a hand. "I don't know much about it."

I purse my lips. "Yeah?"

He shrugs. "I'm interested, of course, but that doesn't mean I know too much."

He's lying, I'm sure of it, but when Itachi doesn't want to talk, there's nothing I can really do about it. "Fine," I say, and stand up. "Enjoy your meal, clean up after yourself—take a shower, maybe."

I hear him sigh again. "Yeah, maybe."

He won't, of course. He'll probably finish his food, maybe not throw it back up, shoot up in his room, and fall asleep. He'll wake up tomorrow morning, drown himself in old newspapers, and continue to hide information from me, only to shoot up and do it all over again.

I don't even bother with a goodbye, just slam the door behind me, and pause when I'm finally in the hallway. I don't ever realize how thick the air is in that stupid apartment until I've left and the weight is removed from my shoulders.

I reach for my phone in my pocket, and stare at it for a second. No new messages, not that I expected any different; I had only seen the moron less than a few hours ago, and whether or not I just left Itachi's apartment, he wouldn't text me, anyway.

A part of me hopes to see Sakura's name pop up, but, of course, it's wishful thinking.

Quickly, I decide to take my chances and dial his number. The phone rings for a few seconds, and then I hear, _"Sasuke?"_

"Kakashi, hey," I say. "Are you busy?"

* * *

Kakashi's apartment is small, and immaculate. It's barely furnished, mostly gray, and always smells of fresh linen. It's anonymous, and fairly convincing for what he has hiding in his closets. He doesn't have any pictures hanging around, and it's only tell is the stupid pornography he leaves lying around.

It's early in the afternoon the next morning when I find myself in front of his big, wooden apartment door in Park Slope. I knock once, twice, and a third time, so he knows it's me.

He's wrapped tightly in a scarf when he answers his door, like he usually is, but I can tell he's smiling by the wrinkles near his eyes. "Sasuke, what brings you here so suddenly?" He steps to the side, and lets me in without waiting for an answer. He ushers me over to the plain, gray couch, and says, "I've got some new stuff in, if you'd like to see."

I shake my head. "I'm not here for that."

He raises a silver eyebrow at me. "Sasuke Uchiha not interested in some new machinery?"

I almost chuckle. "No, just information."

"Well, that was my second guess," he agrees, and sits down in the adjacent, just as gray chair. He crosses his legs, and rests his elbow against the arm of the chair, cups his cheek in his hand. He stares at me for a moment, shifts under his dark, thick scarf, before smiling once again. "Come across something interesting?"

"You could say that." I smirk. "Why, heard anything lately?"

He returns my smirk with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Only what Naruto tells me, same as you."

I roll my eyes. Most people would think he's trying to be modest, but he's, of course, just being an ass. Kakashi knows everything, and everybody, and never forgets. He's just as loyal as he is smart, making him just as incredible an ally as an informant. "So you've spoken to Naruto recently, then?"

He shrugs. "I have, of course."

"So you've heard then," I say. "About Orochimaru."

"God, I haven't heard that name in a long time." He sighs, and runs a hand through his prickly, silver hair. "Nearly twenty-years, or so."

"Must bring back some great memories of the old days," I deadpan, shooting him a dull look.

He laughs. "You could say that. You were just a kid then—what were you, ten? Eleven?"

I snort. "Don't make me older than I am, old man. I was seven."

His look softens. "Sometimes I forget just how young you are."

"Don't get all sentimental on me," I say with a tiny smirk.

He immediately scoffs, and waves a hand at me. "You were just as big of a pisser than as you are now, Sasuke. How have you lived with yourself after all these years?"

"Patience, apparently," I quip. "There must be no other way, looking at who I've been surrounded by."

I'm sure he's grinning by the way he's looking at me. "You wouldn't have survived even half as long as you have without me."

I almost say something to counter him, but he's right, maybe. He was the father figure I never had, and the one Itachi nearly wouldn't allow. "Maybe."

He laughs again, deep and throaty. "Well, what do you want to know about him, Sasuke? You know—I can't remember the last time you made a _social_ visit to your ol' Uncle."

"I've been busy," I snap, a little embarrassed. He'd be disappointed to know the last time I saw my damn mother.

"As you always say."

I sink deeper into the couch. "I'm not going to apologize for having a life."

"I didn't ask you to." He shrugs. "Well, you probably already know he headed Oto. I'm sure Naruto told you."

"He told me enough," I explain, but then I say, "Well, what he knew."

He leans forward, watches me carefully. "And what has Itachi said?"

"What he always says." I sigh. "Nothing."

He frowns. "He's lying, of course."

I roll my eyes. "Please, tell me something I _don't_ know."

"What do you know?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "I'm sure you've thought about it."

"Oto…" The word tastes familiar on my lips. "I remember my father talking about them when I was very young, but I can't say I remember much."

"Your father was very careful with you," he explains. "After how Itachi ended up, I don't blame him."

I shrug. "I don't really remember. I was seven when he died."

"And, as I'm sure, Itachi probably hasn't told you much." I nod my head in the affirmative, and he says, "Though, I'm also sure he really might not actually know that much."

"He knows more than he lets on," I counter.

"I'm sure of that, too," he agrees. "Of course, he knows that Oto was the gang involved in your father's death."

I pause for a moment, and incline my head slowly. "As I thought."

"Though, nobody is really sure who killed your father," he adds. "It could have just as easily been someone low on the food chain as it could have been Orochimaru himself—"

I scoff. "As if some little underling could kill my father."

He smiles. "You're right, I suppose, but nonetheless, there is no solid proof as to who killed your father."

"I know," I say, even though I actually don't know too much about the situation. I was young; too young to understand that my father had been murdered, and far more concerned that he was just gone. I was too young to feel what Itachi, what my mother, what even Kakashi felt when my father was gone, but just old enough to cry, and realize how badly my brother had changed.

"Orochimaru getting out of jail can't be a very good thing," he states, a grim look on his face.

I cluck my tongue. "He's what? Sixty?"

"Hey, watch it, kid," he reprimands with a glare. "Age means nothing anymore."

I smirk. "If you say so."

There's a small pause before he sighs loudly, running a hand through his aging hair. "I wouldn't be too worried about it. Don't get into something you don't have to, Sasuke."

I begin to say, "That's what I was thinking—" before being interrupted by my loudly ringing cellphone. "Probably the idiot," I grumble, before reaching into my pocket.

A number I don't know lights up, a Manhattan area code. There's only person I've given my number to recently… "I have to take this."

He smiles and waves me off. "Go ahead."

I stand up, and begin walking towards the door. I flip my phone open on what seems like the hundredth ring. "Hello?"

"_Hey."_ She breathes.

I open the door, and shut it behind me softly. It's exactly who I thought. "Sakura, is something wrong?"

I hear her cough. _"Uh, no, not exactly."_

I smirk. "A social call?"

She makes an indeterminate noise, and I almost laugh. _"Would you want to get lunch with me?"_ She pauses. _"I just got off work, and I haven't eaten yet."_

I look at my watch. "What time did you get _on_ work?"

She laughs. _"I don't even want to talk about it."_

"It'll take me a little time to get back to the city," I explain.

"_There's a diner by the hospital." _I can almost hear her smiling. Sakura seems like she smiles a lot. _"Ichi—"_

"Ichiraku," I cut her off. "Yeah, that's fine."

She laughs, nervously almost, before saying, _"See you soon, Sasuke."_

I shut the phone without saying goodbye. What a strange girl, she is; first, she wants nothing to do with me, then she calls me for lunch?

I walk back into Kakashi's apartment, shutting the door behind me. "I have to go, Kakashi."

He laughs. "Got to go meet your girlfriend?"

I shoot him a glare. "Go fuck yourself."

Before I'm out the door, he adds, "Come visit sometime _without_ an agenda."

* * *

It's hard to miss pink hair, so I see her immediately, stirring a mug of coffee with a spoon and staring out a window.

Before the waitress can approach me, I say, "I'm meeting somebody," and walk past her. She looks crestfallen, but doesn't follow after me.

Sakura almost immediately notices me, and lights up with a thousand-watt smile. Her lab coat is discarded next to her; her pink hair is pulled back into a tiny ponytail, and she swims in a pretty floral dress that settles on her tiny frame perfectly. She looks even younger, if that's possible. Maybe I'm just used to seeing people age. "Sasuke, hey! Sit down."

I slide into the seat across from her at the booth, and smirk. "Sakura."

"I ordered you coffee," she says, and nods toward the cup in front of me. "I don't know if you drink it, but I figured it'd be easier than waiting for something."

"Thanks." I nod my head.

She smiles softly, and wraps her hands around the mug. It's almost funny seeing her like this—though I barely know her, I safely assumed her normal state of being was loud, and passive aggressive. Here, she looks calm; sweet, even, with eyes green like grass, and shaggy bangs flying in her face.

I want to ask her how old she is. Looking at her now, she looks like she's barely experienced anything, like she couldn't even be twenty. I push the question aside.

"How's your shoulder feeling?" she asks, looking carefully at my arm.

My suit jacket covers it, and though the heavy material is a little disagreeable, it's better than the questions that follow. "It's uncomfortable," I admit.

"Well, of course," she says, and her smile widens. "You were shot. It's not a paper cut."

I shrug. "I've had worse."

A look of something like horror mixed with amusement flashes across her face. "I don't even want to know."

"I wouldn't tell you," I counter. I lean in closer to her, and smirk. "Is this what you called me here for, Sakura? To see how my arm is doing?"

Her cheeks flush a pretty pink that matches your hair. "You're the one that gave me your number."

"This is true," I agree. "But I never thought you'd want to get coffee. Not that I mind, of course." Coffee with a pretty girl isn't exactly a travesty.

Her rosy blush deepen. "I didn't interrupt something you were doing, did I?"

I shake my head. "I wouldn't be here if you had." Well, maybe I had left Kakashi's a _little_ earlier, but I had gotten all the information I needed. "How are you feeling, Sakura?" I nod towards her crutches.

She sighs. "They're a pain in the ass, but I'm not dead."

I actually laugh a little at that. "I guess it could always be worse."

"So, then, there's no use complaining," she says, and grins. "I could have been _shot_."

I roll my eyes. "God forbid."

She leans toward me, places her elbow on the table and cups her chin. "Is everything okay with that?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, you know," she says, and waves her hand. "Did you… sort all of that out?"

She's trying to figure out what happened, again, of course. I try to bite back a smirk. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She bites the inside of her cheek, and leans back into the booth, away from me. "You're really not going to tell me what happened?"

"It will be taken care of," I say. Once I tell Naruto about it, he'll be prowling the alleyway for days until he finds the two guys. "Just stay away from the alleyway, of course."

She shoots me a dull look. "Believe me, I have been."

"Good." She better be. "Wouldn't want you bruising that spleen again."

She scowls. "It won't happen again."

"And you always have my number if it does," I remind her, and lean further. "Or, you know, if you want to get coffee again."

Her blush is nearly red, and she huffs loudly. "Personal space, Sasuke."

I fall back into the booth, but my smirk doesn't. "Sorry, Sakura."

She looks at me for a moment, and then at my shoulder. "Do you get shot often?"

"I thought you didn't want to know," I match, and my smirk widens.

She shoots me a glare. "That's not quite what I meant."

"It's what you said." She scowls, shaking her head. I throw her a bone, and say, "A person like me doesn't get hurt as often as you'd think."

Her eyes light up, if only slightly, and her scowl falls to a tiny smile. "What do you mean, a person like you?"

"What do you _think_ I mean?"

"Are you telling me that people like you in general don't get hurt?" she asks. "Or people of your status?"

"The latter," I whisper.

"So you're very high ranking, then?" she asks.

I roll my eyes. "You googled me, didn't you?"

She fixes me with an embarrassed glare. "It's not the same thing."

"Uchiha is a high ranking name," I explain.

"But that doesn't mean _you're_ high ranking," she counters.

"Take my words as you wish." I wave her off.

She scoffs. "I don't think it's possible for you to be any more _vague."_

I shrug, and take a sip of the coffee. It's bitter, the way I like it. I'm glad she didn't ask them for any cream or sugar.

She stares at me for a moment, a dull look on her face, only to stand up immediately. She slaps money down on the table. "This was stupid." She grabs her coat off of the booth, and begins putting it on.

I simply raise an eyebrow at her, stifling a laugh. "You're leaving?"

"Yes," she says, and fixes me with an annoyed glare. Her heels make her look a little taller, her legs a little longer, I notice as she grabs at her crutches. Should she really be wearing heels with her legs injured?

I don't ask; she's the doctor, she knows better, and her mood swings, apparently, can give you whip lash, so it's better not to annoy her any further. "You made me come all the way from Brooklyn, just to storm off?"

Her cheeks go red. "Goodbye, Sasuke."

Her heels click loudly as she nearly stalks out of the diner. I do laugh, now, watching her struggle with her crutches.

I had a few questions for her, I remember with a tiny frown after she's gone, but, after today, I'm almost positive there will be a next time. She has to take my stitches out, anyway.

What a strange woman.


	7. are you talkin' to me?

**fuhgeddaboudit!  
**theeflowerchild

7\. are you talkin' to me?

* * *

"So," I say, stealing one of his french fries off of his plate. I mean, other people's food always tastes better, right? "Are you really from Brooklyn?"

Sasuke nods his head, and grimaces when I steal another. "Park Slope."

"No kidding." I lean back in my booth, and eat one of my own fries, too. "I grew up on Atlantic Avenue."

He hums. For a man with a blank face, his eyes always say enough: dark, wet, and undeniably alive. His expression says nothing, but his eyes say curious. "I went to that stupid Christian School on Atlantic."

"Stuyvesant," I say.

"Long commute," he comments.

For one of the best high schools in New York—in the country, my mother would have made me make any commute. She would have shipped me away to Sweden if it meant I was getting the best education. My parents didn't come to America to make sure I ended up in some shit job, working too many hours for the amount of money they made. I didn't tell Sasuke that, though. "It was worth it."

"Ivy league, I'm guessing?" He steals one of my fries. It's not as funny when the other person is doing it, bastard.

I steal it right out of his hand, and he smirks. I pull my dish toward me. "Cornell undergrad, Yale Medical—"

"Yale?" he asks. His eyebrows raise in interest. "I did undergrad at Yale."

I know my mouth is gaping rudely, but I can't help myself. "_You_ went to college?"

He snorts. "Don't look so surprised." Then he smirks. "I didn't say I _finished_ college."

I sigh. "Of course you didn't. Too busy robbing liquor stores—"

"I _don't_ rob liquor stores," he snaps. His frown is just as handsome as his smirk. "I can afford liquor, thank you."

"But isn't it just more _badass_ to steal it?" I smile, and I see his cheeks turn a little pink. I almost feel bad for the guy; he's too damn pale to hide any embarrassment. Not so scary when your cheeks are as pink as my hair, are you, Uchiha?

"I don't steal," he says. "I take what's mine."

I scoff. What a rich sentiment from one of the most privileged humans I've ever met. "And what exactly is yours?"

He shrugs. "Nothing of your interest."

"No, please, tell me, I insist." I lean forward, cup my chin in my hands.

He does just the same, and I'm reminded of his issues with personal space—or whether he even cares. "You don't want to know."

We stay like that for a long moment. Sasuke is the kind of man that can look right through you. He knows you'll be the first to look away.

So I do. He smirks. "Is that all?"

"No, I have one other question. What's it like to have a stick up your ass?" I bite.

Something like a laugh comes out of his mouth, and I don't know why, but it makes my stomach bubble. Probably because he also is the kind of man that never laughs. "My posture is immaculate."

I roll my eyes, and stand up. "And that would make the tab _yours._" I grab my coat off the back of my chair, and take one last, quick sip of my coffee. "I'm guessing money is of your interest, anyway?"

He places a fifty down, a _very_ nice tip for the very young waitress making googly eyes at him. Does Sasuke Uchiha have a thing for young girls? Is that my blood boiling—? No, of course not. Thirty-year-olds liking teenagers is just gross.

"It was nice seeing you, Sakura," he says.

I huff. "Sasuke." I don't look back as I walk out of the diner, but I can just _feel_ his eyes burning into my back.

I've known Sasuke Uchiha for nearly four months. I've bought Sasuke Uchiha coffee. Sasuke Uchiha has bought me plates and plates of fries. I've sewn and unsewn him, I've tweezed bullets out of his arms, and prescribed him sleep aids. I've given him three transfusions. I'm not sure I know a single thing about him.

He doesn't smile very often, but when he does, it's twitchy and crooked, and there are no teeth. He's so handsome it's almost too much, like a cake that's too sweet. One look and your teeth hurt. He's ridiculously smart and I think some people find him scary, too—intimidating, at least, but not me. Sasuke Uchiha doesn't scare me one bit.

I think.

Not that it matters, anyway. All he is a patient—we take his insurance, apparently! All that stealing for freaking nothing—and a friend. And a free lunch, too. I'm always in it for the free food.

I literally stole a bag of blood for him, he can treat me to a burger, okay?

I still love the sound of my heels against the sidewalk. A month on crutches was a month far too long without my babies; it feels good to pick up the pace and not wince because _my spleen is bruised_ or whatever.

By the time I make it back to the hospital after my lunch break, it's a busy hour: the kids are out of school, and the parents are dragging them to the free clinic to get checked out. I count my lucky stars I don't have clinic hours today. Spring might mean the trees are in bloom, but that also means that allergies are, too, and as cute as a two-year-old is, I don't need him sneezing on me, _thanks_.

The elevator line is short, and the ride up to my floor is quick. Ino waves at me as she noshes on her salad, winks at me like she knows something. She doesn't know anything, obviously. What's there to know, anyway?

I wave at a few patients in their beds. It's a paradox how you can come to love your patients and not want them anywhere near you.

I reach for my keys to my office in my pocket as I reach the end of the hall, but when I try to unlock the door, I realize it's already open. "Strange," I whisper to myself. I throw it open to a mess.

"You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

My papers were everywhere. Every single book in my office is now on my floor. The windows are broken, and my connected air conditioner is nowhere in sight. Had it fallen nine flights? Had the thing hurt anybody? My poor lab coat is ripped in half, and all the drawers to my desk are open, and rattled. What the fuck do I do?

I yell.

"Ino!"

* * *

"Okay, Doctor, I just have a few questions," the nice detective asks me. He's cute, and smiley, with blonde hair and blue eyes and maybe the nicest butt I've ever seen—whatever. Anyway. When it takes me a moment to respond, he grins a big, toothy grin. "Don't be nervous."

"No, I'm not, it's fine," I say, and muster the kindest smile I can.

"Good. Remember, you're safe," he says. He reassures me with a squeeze to my arm. "We have no reason to believe you're in any current danger."

Okay, but what about like, later danger? Tomorrow danger? A week from now danger—?

"Was the door open when you got here?" he asks me. He begins scribbling down on his notepad before he says anything.

"Uh." I think. "No, just unlocked. I stuck my key in, but it was already open."

"Good, good," he says, and doesn't look up from his pad. "Around what time?"

"I don't know, 2:30, 2:45?" I guess. "No later than three."

"That's fine." He nods. "Did you see anybody by your door when you approached the scene?"

"No, I was alone," I say. "Listen, do you know anything about my AC—"

"We found it behind the nurse's desk," he explains, and then he laughs. "It seems our perpetrator didn't want anybody on the ground getting hurt, at least."

I grit my teeth. "Right."

"Right," he agrees, but he's a hell of a lot more sure than I am. "Was there anything particularly out of place when you got here?" I know the look I was giving him: like he was an idiot, but he only laughed. "I mean, other than everything being on the floor. Did you see anything in particular stolen?"

"Oh, no." I shake my head. "It looks like they just made a mess."

"That they did." He finishes scribbling something, and then clicks his pen. "And did the officer have you fill out the sheet with all your items on it?"

I nod my head. "Yes."

"That's good." He sticks his pad into his back pocket. "We're going to give this office a good look through. Was your computer locked? Do you have your keys, your wallet?"

"I don't keep my private computer here, but my work computer was locked," I explain. "I don't think whoever broke in could've gotten into personal files of patients… There are a lot of different codes."

"It's nice to know that the hospital I attend is safe." He scratches the back of his head nervously, fingers through his spiky blonde hair. "Wouldn't want anything private getting out."

I laugh. "Me neither, detective."

"Please, call me Naruto," he insists, again. He reaches into his pocket and hands me a card. "My number is on here. If you need anything, you call me, okay? Do you have somewhere to go after you finish your shift today?"

I take his card. I'll add him to the list of men who insist on protecting me. "I have an apartment."

"Good," he says. "Is that the same address on your license?"

I nod my head.

"And does anybody live there?" he asks. "Family, friends, a boyfriend or girlfriend, somebody who can keep you company?"

I roll my eyes. "I have a boyfriend, but I can take care of myself."

He grins. "Right. You go take care of yourself then, okay, Dr. Haruno?"

"Yeah, thanks, Detective," I look down at his card, "Uzumaki."

"Naruto," he corrects.

"Naruto," I agree.

By the time they're done scouring my office, it's still a total mess. I pick a few books off the floor and put them back in their place. I collect the files off the floor that I'll have to sort out this week, which I'm sure will be a trick and a half. I check my computer which doesn't seem to have been logged into, but there is a key missing from the keyboard. The O. Can I buy a vowel?

I hear a knock on the door and I'm interrupted from my cleaning. Ino's there, frowning, her mascara a mess. "Ino, are you crying—?"

"I'm so sorry, Sakura," she says, and wipes away a little tear. "I didn't see anybody come in. I didn't mean for this to happen."

I shake my head, and smile. "Ino, you have to know this isn't your fault."

"I should have been paying attention," she tells me, and steps from the frame into the office. She gives it a once over and her frown deepens. "This fucking sucks."

"Tell me about it." I lift another book off the floor and put it back. Ino begins to help me. "You know you couldn't have prevented this. Some people are assholes. I'm just glad you're safe."

"I should have been watching," she insists.

I shrug. "Shit happens."

"It sucks when it happens while you're in charge." She sighs. It's weird seeing Ino like this: self-conscious, and insecure. I'm sure Ino knows this _definitely_ isn't her fault; she could not have prevented something she didn't see, and even if she had tried, what if the person who had done this hurt her? Or worse?

"It was an honest mistake." I stop collecting books and put a hand on her shoulder. "Anyway, you can't expect to be pretty _and_ smart."

Without missing a beat, she scoffs. "_Excuse me?"_

"Well, I'm just saying." I begin to laugh when I see Ino's frown begin to turn into a downright catty _scowl_. "They're called dumb blondes for a reason."

"Oh my _god_, that's so _bigoted_," she whines.

"Not the word I'd use, Ino," I correct with a smile.

"Why don't you help me, then? You must have a big brain behind that almighty _forehead_—"

"Hey watch it or _you'll_ be cleaning this office—"

"But how will I ever find it when I'm so _dumb_—"

"I'm sure you'll manage—"

"Maybe I can use your forehead to balance the books—"

We continue like this for what feels like too long, and it looks like my office is back to what it was. I still have to sort through the files, but this would have been a hell of a lot harder myself. "It's almost four, why don't you head home?"

She nods her head, and pulls her ponytail tighter. "You sure you don't need anymore help, Sakura?"

"Positive," I say as I sit in my chair with a huff.

Before she leaves, she says, "What the hell kind of luck do you have, forehead? First a mugging, now a break in?"

I cluck my tongue. "Not good luck, that's for shit sure."

She rolls her eyes and waves me goodbye, shutting the door behind her.

She's right. I have shit fucking luck. If you had told me a year ago that I'd be beaten and b-and-e'd, I wouldn't believe you. These things don't happen to me. I'm lucky if I get caught in the rain without an umbrella for a little action in my life.

And now I have Sasuke Uchiha—and two broken windows.

I reach for my phone, and decide for a minute who to call, but I dial his number before I can even consider anybody else.

"_Didn't we just part?" _he says over the receiver.

I snort. "Can't you talk like a normal person?"

"_I'm shockingly normal,"_ he says. There's silence, then, "_Is there any reason you called?"_

I breathe, deep, in and out. "Yeah, I guess, uh—somebody sort of, well—not sort of—okay—"

"_Spit it out, Sakura_."

"Somebody broke into my office," I tell him.

More silence. "_I see."_

"They totally trashed the place," I continue. "Books all over the floor, files wrecked, windows broken; the whole nine yards. The cops were here and everything."

"_The cops?"_ he asks. "_Who?"_

"NYPD," I tell him. "Some detective, Naruto—"

"_Uzumaki," _he finishes for me, and then takes my silence as question. "_I know a few officers."_

I swallow. "Reassuring."

"_What's the government without corruption?"_ he asks. "_I can be over there in fifteen to walk you home."_

"That isn't necessary—"

"_I insist,"_ he says, and hangs up before I can even fight him.

He's at my office door in twelve. He doesn't knock, he just opens it and scowls. "They broke all the windows?"

I shrug. "They want me to be warm. They hid my AC behind the nurse's desk."

"And nobody fuckin' saw?" He rolls his eyes. "This place is a mess. You shouldn't work here."

I frown. "And who are you to tell me where I can and can't work?"

"The big man in charge." He smirks. "Haven't you heard of me?"

"I've only seen your name on the most-wanted list," I snap. I go to grab my lab coat, and remember what those fiends had done to it. My beautiful lab coat, the one my parents gave me when I received my MD. "They ripped my coat in half."

I hear him snort. "I beg your pardon?"

"My lab coat." I show him the ripped garment, bleached beautifully white like the day it was purchased, ripped right down the middle. "My parents gave me this lab coat. This is my only lab coat."

I see him holding back laughter, and I want to hurt him, only a little. I know he came to my rescue and whatever like his almighty godliness has insisted on doing for the past few months, but does he not have a sentimental bone in his body? "I'm, uh, sorry."

"You're a _monster,_ that's what you are!" I snap, and he laughs even more.

"I'll get you a new one," he tells me. "Come on, isn't it time to get you home?"

"I didn't _ask_ you to come here." I grab my wallet, keys, and phone off the desk. The ripped the poor little strap off my purse, so I have to hold all my shit now. What's the point of that? Just to inconvenience me by destroying my only purse?

"I'm aware, but that doesn't mean you have to make me wait." He offers me his hand, and I don't take it.

We begin walking down the hallway, and I wave off the night nurses. "Don't call me," I tell them, and they laugh, like I'm joking.

Let me tell you, _I'm not joking._

I check my phone, and find a missed call from Kiba. He's probably home by now anyway, there's no point in calling him when I can just tell him what happened in fifteen minutes. I don't want to _worry_ him or anything, or have him rushing over here. Just another person insisting I can't take care of myself, which is some bullshit.

Sasuke Uchiha would be _dead_ without me, but he's got to take care of me? He needs to walk _me_ home? I removed a bullet from his damn arm with tweezers and natural light, he should be a little more careful around me.

"What are you thinking?" he asks me.

It takes me a second to remove myself from my thoughts, and I shoot him an annoyed look. "Excuse me?"

"You've been quiet," he says. "What are you thinking?"

It doesn't take a beat for me to say, "My poor lab coat." I could almost _cry_. That was the only one I had! I loved that lab coat! Now I have to go get another one, and it probably won't have my name sewn into it, and it won't smell like my favorite fabric softener. Getting robbed is honestly the worst.

He shakes me from my thoughts again with his deep, pretty voice. Despite the words that come out of that stupid mouth, the sound that makes them is kind of beautiful. Still, it's coming out of him, so it isn't that great. "This is your stop."

"Oh, right." I shuffle my wallet and phone between my hands. "Thanks."

"Anytime," he says, and I know he means it. "Do you want me to walk you up?"

I think of Kiba, and immediately shake my head. "That isn't necessary."

"Well… If you need anything, you'll call me, right?" he asks, and while he's playing it cool, I can tell he's serious. I wonder if he knows how telling his eyes are—worried, kind, a little curious, even. Like, why the hell am I involved with this woman? Why can't I just leave her the hell alone?

Maybe I'm projecting.

I wave him off. "Yeah, yeah, whatever." I pat his back. "Thanks, Sasuke."

"You're welcome, Sakura." He watches me walk up the stairs, and before I'm inside my building, he repeats himself, "Call me if you need anything."

"Heard you the first time." I shut the door behind me.

I take my time up the several flights of stairs to my apartment. I'm tired, and they're tiring. When I finally get to the door, I take a deep breath. The door is opened for me.

I step back in surprise. "Kiba—"

"Where were you? Who was that?" he asks in one breath. "You were on the news, what happened? Why didn't you answer your—"

"Kiba," I repeat. He's red in the face and his hair is a chocolate mop on his head. His eyes are bloodshot. "Wait, it was on the news—?"

"_Yes_ it was on the news! An entire floor of hospital windows was destroyed—"

"It was, like, three windows," I correct him, and push through his body that was blocking the doorway. I throw all my shit on the table. "I'm fine, I was going to tell you when I got home."

"When you got _home!?"_ he yells, and slams the door shut. "It should have been the first thing you did!"

I roll my eyes. "Before or after the police?"

I expect him to roll his eyes, but he only gets angrier. "And who the hell was that guy out there!? I could have walked you home!"

"He…" I trail off, and watch him for a second: nostrils flared, eyes blazing, arms up. I choose my words carefully. "He was just an escort. I didn't want to worry you at work. Why don't you sit, baby? I'll make tea."

"I don't _want_ tea!" he screams, but he sits, fists pounding against the wood of the table. "An escort? So the NYPD employs escorts now?"

I snort. "That's not what I meant."

"You should have called me," he sounds calmer now. I walk into the kitchenette and begin to fix the water. "I would have gotten you."

"You couldn't leave work," I reply.

"Like hell!" He slams his fist again. "You could have been hurt, or worse, or _worse_, Sakura—"

"Please, relax." I walk toward him and wrap my arms around his shoulders. He smells like wet dog. "You need a shower."

He leans into my touch, and nuzzles his head against my chin. Despite the rancid smell of cat piss, I kiss the top of his head. "Are you sure that isn't you that smells?"

I let go. "Positive." I fix our tea, and set his in front of him. He doesn't touch it. "Kiba, I'm sorry." I wrap my fingers in his.

He looks up from the table, and into my eyes. "I'm serious. Something could have happened to you."

"I know," I say.

"You don't have to pretend like you're invincible," he tells me. "I love you, I want to help you."

"I know," I repeat.

"I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you," he whispers, and he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss.

"I love you, too," I tell him, and I smile.

When he finally lets go, we drink our tea in silence. He holds me for the rest of the night on the couch, and before he falls asleep, he tells me, "I'm walking you to work tomorrow.

I frown. "But—"

"No buts," he whispers, and he sounds more exhausted than annoyed. "You might not want protection, but lord knows you need it."

I grumble, but he kisses me silent. He falls asleep with his hands up my shirt.

* * *

Kiba and I get ready that morning. I can't remember the last time we fought over the sink, or he got his toothpaste in my hair. We shower together, and he presses kisses to my shoulders, and runs shampoo through my wet hair. We get dressed together, and he makes coffee for the both of us.. I don't believe we've had a perfect morning like this since our first apartment in Ithaca.

"What time is your shift?" he asks me, staring at the clock.

"Ten," I lie. It's at eleven, but I prefer to get there earlier, especially now that my paperwork has been trashed.

He pauses, and then asks me, slowly, "Are you sure?" and I grin because he's caught me.

"Okay, eleven!" I lie again. I lied to you. It's twelve. I'm sorry! "I have to get paperwork done."

"Isn't that what work time is for?" he asks me, and gathers our mugs anyway.

"There isn't enough time in the work year to finish all the crap Tsunade sends my way." I sigh, loudly. I look for my lab coat, but it isn't there. RIP—literally.

Kiba comes up behind me and runs his hands along my shoulders, down my arms. "I'll get you a new one," he says, like he knows, like he gets it!

"My parents got me that one," I say.

"I know, sweetheart, and we'll get you another." He fishes for my coat instead. "It's chilly, and Tsunade will understand the circumstances."

"Yes, being the understanding woman that she is," I quip, but I put on the jacket anyway.

By the time we're out the door, it's already a quarter to ten and I'm ready to be in my chair, signing papers. I lock the door behind me, and that's when I see him.

When _we _see him.

Kiba immediately frowns, and it's doesn't suit him. Kiba is a smiler. His smile makes his tattoos look better, makes his messy hair make more sense. Kiba isn't handsome when he frowns. "It seems your _escort_ is here."

I grin, sheepishly and awkwardly and everything in between. "Sasuke, uh, hey—"

Kiba saunters down the steps, annoyingly and what he deems as intimidating, I'm sure. "Heya, _Sasuke."_

Sasuke nods his head. "Good morning, Sakura."

I shuffle down the stairs quickly, and contemplate a way to get out of this. Of course, stupid Sasuke would show up. How could he be stupid Sasuke if he wasn't trying to save the day? That's what good friends do, I guess?

But I'm not sure if I'd equate _good friend_ with _upper-level gangster of New York City_. Whatever.

"The—the police force sent you this morning?" I ask, quickly, and Sasuke's brows immediately furrow in confusion. I see Kiba's frown deepen. I keep going, anyway. "How nice of them. See how nice NYPD is, Kiba, dear? So nice. How nice of them, to watch out for me—"

Sasuke catches on quickly, king of evil of lying and deception that he is. "Right," he says, and he lies, "Officer Sasuke, at your service."

I know Kiba doesn't buy it one bit. "Officer Sasuke?" he asks. "Last name?"

Sasuke shrugs. "None of your bus—"

"Uchiha!" I cut him off, and I know Kiba sees me glaring, and smiling, and glaring, and smiling, because I've done that to him, and maybe Kiba isn't the man in my life to be lying too right now—"Officer Uchiha, my love—"

Sasuke snorts.

"And it was very sweet of the NYPD to send him over, don't you think?" I'm talking fast. Does it sound like I'm talking fast? Do you think I'm talking fast? "We can't just send him away, now can we?"

Kiba doesn't say anything, just stares at me like I've grown an extra head, or two, or three.

"Now you don't need to walk me!" I insist. He takes a step forward. "Really, Kiba—"

"Yeah, really, Kiba—"

"It's fine!" I finish for Sasuke, and if I could elbow him without seeming suspicious, he'd be on his knees right about now.

Kiba watches us both, very carefully, chocolate brown eyes looking us up and down—or maybe just Sasuke, probably just Sasuke. His posture slackens, relaxes. He asks me, "Are you sure?"

I nod my head, maybe too much like a bobble-head, and Kiba doesn't believe me. Not one bit. I know it. "Fine," he says.

He steps close, and then closer. Too close for comfort. A foot away from Sasuke, a centimeter away from he. He kisses me, hard, puts his hands on my waist and bends my back into him. When he pulls away, he says, "Love you!" and doesn't even humor Sasuke with a handshake before he's inside again.

There is silence.

"Your boyfriend is fucking weird," Sasuke says, finally, and begins walking toward the hospital before I can even respond.

It takes me a moment to catch up to him, and when I do, I punch him in the arm. He only smirks. "Well maybe if strange, scary men didn't show up at my house at ten AM—"

"I prefer intimidatingly handsome," he corrects.

I only glare harder. "You men have that stupid territorial thing."

"I have no such thing," he corrects.

I stop. "You're a gangster," I dedpan. "Don't you have, like, a literal territory?"

He shrugs. "The world is my territory."

I laugh, I guffaw. "Sasuke Uchiha, gangster of the universe."

"That's me," he says, and his smirk only widens, almost like he's smiling. Except Sasuke Uchiha doesn't smile.

We walk in silence until I'm the first to speak again—because Sasuke is never the first to speak. Sasuke Uchiha doesn't even _have_ to talk, if he doesn't want to, apparently. Who the hell raised this guy?

"Why are you here?" I ask him.

He looks at me like I'm stupid. "Were you not just robbed?"

"Okay, I wasn't _robbed,"_ I correct him. "Nothing was stolen. I think."

"You think?" he asks me. I can see the hospital now, and I'm just dying to be in that chair, like I said. "Did you check yourself?"

"The police checked," I say.

"So you didn't check yourself." He shoves his hands deep in his pocket. "You should give it a look through. It's your office. Only you'll know what's taken, Sakura."

"Yeah, maybe, whatever," I wave him off. When we get to the hospital, he drops me off at the door.

"Kiba is picking me up," I tell him. "So _don't_ go showing up here."

He only smirks.

The elevator ride up to my office is slow, and it's already almost ten-thirty. Can't Sasuke Uchiha speed walk? No, of course not, he saunters, or moseys, or something else lazy and entitled. I unlock my office door, and there are garbage bags and tape where my windows used to be. I sigh, and sit, and begin my paperwork.

After about an hour, I think about what Sasuke said. I guess I really am the only one that knows what's missing. I can tell the cops what I have, but I think I'd see if like, my giant globe or my _degree _was missing, you know?

I begin opening the drawers of my desk. My top drawer is still full of pens, the middle has my stapler, and some anxiety medication, and a birth control packet. The important files in my bottom drawer seem unshuffled.

Which is odd, because every other file in this office was destroyed.

I take the pile out. I sift through them; there's Ino's name, and my mother's name, and some of the nurses I personally see.

That's when I notice it.

I dial Sasuke's number, and he picks up after two rings. "_Don't tell me, another break in?"_

I snort. "No."

A long silence falls between us. Finally, he asks, "_So why are you calling? Change your mind on that pickup?"_

"Maybe," I whisper, and before he can make another sarcastic comment, I tell him, "I gave my office a look through."

"_And?"_

"And I found something," I say. When he doesn't say anything, I continue. "Your file is gone. Okay, well, it's been replaced."

"... _Replaced?"_ he asks, and suddenly he sounds less jokey, and a lot more serious. I don't like serious Sasuke. I much prefer stupid Sasuke. "_Tell me exactly what you found, Sakura. I'm walking back to the hospital."_

I swallow. "Madara Uchiha. Madara Uchiha is the name on the new file."


End file.
